


Hellblazer and the Philosopher's Stone

by Soron66



Series: Constantine/Harry Potter crossover [1]
Category: Constantine (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-13 16:10:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 64,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16021397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soron66/pseuds/Soron66
Summary: An 11 yr old John Constantine joins the adventures of Harry Potter.





	1. The Train

**Author's Note:**

> i apologize for the length. I'm unsure if it's too long or not. translations for other languages will be in the end notes. unfortunately, I don't own either the characters from the Constantine tv show or the Harry Potter characters.

Chapter 1: The Train

 

An 11 year old boy with blonde hair, blue eyes, wearing a white t-shirt, a tan jacket, blue jeans, and running shoes pushed his cart full of random stuff he recently bought. As he did so, he looked around him. There were people milling about. Adults and kids alike. However, the kids seemed to be the only ones getting on the big red-ish train sitting on the solo tracks. This train was no ordinary train. It was magical, and it was currently at platform 9 ¾. Most people would be confused at the platform number, but those with magic know how to find it. All you have to do is run straight at a particular pillar that sat in between platforms 9 and 10. If you choose the right pillar, you’ll go through the pillar instead of it going through you. Speaking of which, a boy with black hair and circular glasses came running out of a wall after some ginger twins. The boy was wearing a red long sleeved cotton shirt, tan pants, and black shoes of some sort. He looked around in awe, and that made the blonde snort in amusement. However, he didn’t have time think on the topic as he arrived at the train.

“Do you need some help?” asked a bushy brown haired girl already wearing her school robes.

“Aye,” the blonde replied, “I could use a bit of help with all this. Not exactly full of muscles after all.”

“A simple ‘yes’ would have sufficed,” the girl said with a raised eyebrow as she began helping the blonde move his stuff into the train, “What is your name anyway?”

“The names John Constantine,” the blonde replied, “and you?”

“Hermione Granger,” the girl returned as she held out a hand which John shook. As soon as they had loaded all of John’s stuff he lead them to an empty compartment where he began storing his stuff. When he was done he sat down and pulled out a lighter.

“You do know smoking is bad for your health right?” Hermione asked in a worried tone.

“Aye luv,” John replied, “This is just my lucky charm. Helped me out of a fair amount of scrapes the past few years. You gonna sit down or do you intend to stand there like a statue?”

“I already have a compartment,” the girl smiled, “Thanks for the offer though. Nice to meet you John. See you later.”

“Imagine I will,” John said before he looked a window as he flicked the lighter open and closed.

**Meanwhile, with the boy in the glasses…**

The boy pressed on through the crowd until he found a compartment near the end of the train. The compartment already had a boy in it. Said boy was flicking a lighter open and closed absentmindedly. He put Hedwig inside first and then started to shove and heave his trunk toward the train door. He tried to lift it up the steps but could hardly raise one end and twice he dropped it painfully on his foot.

“Want a hand?” It was one of the red-haired twins he'd followed through the barrier.

“Yes,” the boy panted, “Please.”

“Oy, Fred!” the ginger yelled, “C'mere and help!”

With the twins' help, the boy’s trunk was at last tucked away in a corner of the compartment.

“Thanks,” said the boy, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes.

“What's that?” asked one of the twins suddenly, pointing at the boy's  
lightning scar.

“Blimey,” began the other twin, “Are you-”

“He is,” said the first twin, "Aren't you?" he added to the boy.

“What?” asked the boy in confusion.

“Harry Potter,” chorused the twins.

“Oh, him,” said the boy, “I mean, yes, I am.”

The two boys gawked at him, and Harry felt himself turning red. Then, to his relief, a voice came floating in through the train's open door.

“Fred? George?” a woman called, “Are you there?”

“Coming,” they called back, “Mom.”

With a last look at Harry, the twins hopped off the train. Harry sat down next to the window where, half hidden, he could watch the red-haired family on the platform and hear what they were saying. Their mother had just taken out her handkerchief.

“Ron,” the mother said, “you've got something on your nose.”

The youngest boy tried to jerk out of the way, but she grabbed him and began rubbing the end of his nose.

“Mom,” Rob said as he wriggled free, “geroff.”

“So,” said a voice near to Harry, “You’re Harry bleedin’ Potter.”

Harry turned to look at the blonde kid and saw that the kid had stopping flicking his lighter open and closed.

“Yes,” Harry said slowly, “Who are you?”

“Name’s John Constantine,” John said as he leaned back in his seat, “Demonologist, exorcist in training, and soon to be wizard.”

“Demonologist?” Harry almost laughed, “Oh come on. Those are just things told to us to keep us in our place. Even if they’re not, there has never been any actual existence of such things.”

“I used to believe the same as you Harry,” John said grimly, “But then one possessed my sister. Once something like that happens, you become a believer.”

“Where's Percy?" asked the ginger woman from outside the train acquiring Harry’s attention again.

“He's coming now,” said one of the twins when he saw his older brother heading their way.

The oldest boy came striding into sight. He had already changed into his billowing black Hogwarts robes, and Harry noticed a shiny silver badge on his chest with the letter P on it.

“The P means he’s a prefect,” John said as he too looked out the window, “Really just a posh name for pricks.”

“Can't stay long, Mother," Percy said. “I'm up front, the prefects have got two compartments to themselves-”

“Oh, are you a prefect, Percy?” said one of the twins, with an air of great surprise, “You should have said something, we had no idea.”

“Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it,” said the other twin. “Once-”

“Or twice-”

“A minute-”

“All summer-”

“Oh, shut up,” said Percy the Prefect.

“How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?” asked one of the twins.

“Because he's a prefect," said their mother fondly. “All right, dear, well, have a good term. Send me an owl when you get there.”

She kissed Percy on the cheek and he left. Then she turned to the twins.

“Now, you two,” the mother said sternly, “this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you've… you've blown up a toilet or-”

“Blown up a toilet?” one twin said defensively, “We've never blown up a toilet.”

“Great idea though, thanks, Mom,” the other twin grinned.

“It's not funny,” the mother said sternly, “and look after Ron.”

“Don't worry,” one of the twins teased, “ickle Ronniekins is safe with us.”

“Shut up,” said Ron again. He was almost as tall as the twins already and his nose was still pink where his mother had rubbed it.

“Hey, Mom, guess what?” one of the twins said suddenly, “Guess who we just met on the train?”

Harry leaned back quickly so they couldn’t see him looking. John snickered at that as he continued watching.

“You know that black-haired boy who was near us in the station?” the other twin asked, “Know who he is?”

“Who?” the mother asked confused.

“Harry Potter!” the twins said in unison.

That’s when the little girl spoke up.

“Oh, Mom,” the girl begged, “can I go on the train and see him, Mom, oh please…”

“Sounds like you’ve got a girlfriend,” John snorted to Harry’s annoyance.

“You've already seen him, Ginny,” the mother said kindly, “and the poor boy isn't something you goggle at in a zoo.”

“Is he really, Fred?” the mother asked as she turned back to the twins, “How do you know?”

“Asked him,” one of the twins said proudly, “Saw his scar. It's really there… like lightning.”

"Poor dear,” the mother said sympathetically, “No wonder he was alone, I wondered. He was ever so polite when he asked how to get onto the platform.”

“Never mind that,” one of the twins said, “Do you think he remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?”

Their mother suddenly became very stern.

“I forbid you to ask him, Fred,” the mother said sternly, “No, don't you dare. As though he needs reminding of that on his first day at school.”

“Do you though?” John asked Harry to which Harry shook his head.

“You’re lucky mate,” John said honestly before he returned his attention to the conversation outside. However, the conversation had ended already and not a moment too soon either. Reason is, the train began whistling indicating it was time to get on board if you're going to Hogwarts.

“Hurry up!” their mother said, and the three boys clambered onto the train. They leaned out of the window for her to kiss them good-bye, and their younger sister began to cry.

“Don't, Ginny,” one of the boys said, “we'll send you loads of owls.”

“We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat,” said one of the twins.

“George!” the mother chided.

“Only joking, Mom,” George assured her.

The train began to move. Harry saw the boys' mother waving and their sister, half laughing, half crying, running to keep up with the train until it gathered too much speed, then she fell back and waved. Harry watched the girl and her mother disappear as the train rounded the corner. Houses flashed past the window. Harry felt a great leap of excitement. He didn't know what he was going to but it had to be better than what he was leaving behind.

The door of the compartment slid open and the youngest redheaded boy came in.

“Anyone sitting there?” he asked, pointing at the seat opposite Harry, “Everywhere else is full.”

Harry and John shook their heads and the boy sat down. He glanced at Harry and then looked quickly out of the window, pretending he hadn't looked. Harry saw he still had a black mark on his nose.

“Hey, Ron,” said a familiar voice from the doorway.

“Listen,” said one of the twins, “we're going down the middle of the train. Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there.”

“Right,” mumbled Ron. John could see the twitch that Ron did involuntarily when Fred or George mentioned a spider, and that caused him to frown a bit.

“Harry,” said the other twin, “did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then.”

“Bye," said Harry and Ron. The twins slid the compartment door shut behind them.

“Are you really Harry Potter?” Ron blurted out.

Harry nodded.

“Oh… well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes," said Ron, "And have you really got… you know…”

He pointed at Harry's forehead.

Harry pulled back his bangs to show the lightning scar. Ron stared.

“So that's where You-Know-Who-” Ron began.

“Yes,” said Harry, “but I can't remember it.”

“Nothing?"”said Ron eagerly.

“Shut it ginger,” John warned, “The topic you're on is not one that anyone should have to recount.”

“It’s alright John,” Harry assured John Constantine.

“I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else,” Harry admitted to Ron.

“Wow,” said Ron. He sat and stared at Harry for a few moments, then, as though he had suddenly realized what he was doing, he looked quickly out of the window again.

“Are all your family wizards?” asked Harry, who found Ron just as interesting as Ron found him.

“Er… Yes, I think so," said Ron slowly, “I think Mom's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about him.”

“I can imagine,” John snorted, “Being an accountant has got to be dreadfully boring.”

“So you must know loads of magic already,” Harry reasoned.

The Weasleys were clearly one of those old wizarding families the pale boy in Diagon Alley had talked about.

“I heard you went to live with Muggles,” said Ron. “What are they like?”

“Horrible,” Harry said automatically before he revised his response, “Well, not all of them. My aunt and uncle and cousin are, though. Wish I'd had three wizard brothers.”

“Five," said Ron. For some reason, he was looking gloomy, “I'm the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I've got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left… Bill was head boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy's a prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and Percy's old rat.”

Ron reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat gray rat, which was asleep.

“His name's Scabbers and he's useless,” Ron said, “he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a prefect, but they couldn't aff… I mean, I got Scabbers instead.”

Ron's ears went pink. He seemed to think he'd said too much, because he went back to staring out of the window.

“What about you?” Ron asked John in order to change the subject.

“I’m a half-blood,” John replied, “My dad’s a preacher, and my mum’s a witch. You can imagine his reaction when he found out.”

“What was his reaction?” Ron asked confused.

“You ever hear of the Salem witch trials?” John asked grimly.

Harry and Ron both shook their heads.

“Here’s the short version,” John explained, “The people of Salem were god-fearin’ folk. They believed that magic was the tool of the devil and that witches consorted with the devil. My dad was just as devout as them, and so he was torn. Torn by his duty as a preacher and his duty as a husband. On one hand, he’s supposed to burn her alive and on the other hand he’s supposed to protect her. However, when my sister was possessed by a demon the preacher did all he could to exorcise the monster, and so did my mum. In the end they had to combine their unique skills in order to draw it out. To my dad’s shock that worked. From then on he’s been a bit more accepting, but he doesn’t like it when my mum uses magic for everyday chores. He requested that she reserves it for dealing with demons and the like.”

“That’s… dark,” Harry gulped.

“What happened to your sister?” Ron asked.

“Last I heard she joined You-know-who in the war,” John replied.

“I thought she was not that much older than you or at least in her twenties,” Ron said.

“She’s about two decades older than me,” Constantine said as he pulled out his lucky lighter again, “Never met her, but my mum told the story… in the form of a journal. She died when she gave birth to me. My dad always blamed me for it, and still does.”

“Why didn’t you say his name?” Harry asked curiously.

“Whose name?” Constantine asked.

“Voldemort’s,” Harry replied.

That caused Ron to gasp.

“What?” Harry asked.

“You said You-Know-Who's name!” said Ron, sounding both shocked and impressed, “I'd have thought you, of all people..."

“I'm not trying to be brave or anything, saying the name,” said Harry, “I just never knew you shouldn't. See what I mean? I've got loads to learn.... I bet,” he added, voicing for the first time something that had been worrying him a lot lately, “I bet I'm the worst in the class.”

“You won't be,” Ron assured him, “There's loads of people who come from Muggle families and they learn quick enough.”

While they had been talking, the train had carried them out of London. Now they were speeding past fields full of cows and sheep. They were quiet for a time, watching the fields and lanes flick past.

Around half past twelve there was a great clattering outside in the corridor and a smiling, dimpled woman slid back their door and said, “Anything off the cart, dears?”

Harry, who hadn't had any breakfast, leapt to his feet, but Ron's ears went pink again and he muttered that he'd brought sandwiches. Harry went out into the corridor.

He had never had any money for candy with the Dursleys, and now that he had pockets rattling with gold and silver he was ready to buy as many Mars Bars as he could carry... but the woman didn't have Mars Bars. What she did have were Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs. Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands, and a number of other strange things Harry had never seen in his life. Not wanting to miss anything, he got some of everything and paid the woman eleven silver Sickles and seven bronze Knuts.

Ron stared as Harry brought it all back into the compartment and tipped it onto an empty seat.

“Hungry,” Ron remarked, “are you?”

“Starving," said Harry, taking a large bite out of a pumpkin pasty.

Ron had taken out a lumpy package and unwrapped it. There were four sandwiches inside. He pulled one of them apart and said, “She always forgets I don't like corned beef.”

“Allow me,” Constantine said as he grabbed the sandwiches.

“What are-” began Ron as Constantine pulled out a roll of paper which had some sort of symbol scribed on it.

“This is a little trick I learned after I ran away from home,” Constantine said as he clasped his hands and closed his eyes while his eyes rolled back.

“Ne hunc cibum in quisquiliarum transform deorum,” Constantine said right before a flash of light erupted. When the light had ebbed away, in the place of the sandwiches were four boxes of Pizza from Papa Johns.

“It always changes to American pizza?” Ron said amazed.

“Nah,” John said as he opened a box, “It’s random. Pizza just arrives before something good happens. Usually it’s just actual good sandwiches like hamburgers or PB&Js.”

He the pulled out a slice and bit into it. As he did so his eyes rolled up into his head, but this time in satisfaction.

“Tastes like the real deal too,” John said after he swallowed a piece, “Good thing is, it doesn’t make you fat. It keeps the same amount of nutrition that the food it used to be had. All that changes is the taste, look, and smell. Bloody useful when living on the streets. Prison too.”

“You were in prison?” Harry asked shocked as he bit into one of his candies.

“No,” John said shaking his head, “I learned this trick from another practitioner of magic. Magic isn’t only for those born with magic in their blood. Its for muggles too. I know a muggle girl that uses magic by speaking sentences backwards. However, our magics are entirely different. While ours is fairly straightforward, theirs requires random stuff like symbols circles like the one i just used and chants.”

“What are these?” Harry asked Ron, holding up a pack of Chocolate Frogs. “They're not really frogs, are they?”

He was starting to feel that nothing would surprise him.

“No,”  said Ron. “But see what the card is. I'm missing Agrippa.”

“What?” Harry said in confusion.

“Oh, of course, you wouldn't know,” Ron said in realization, “Chocolate Frogs have cards, inside them, you know, to collect… famous witches and wizards. I've got about five hundred, but I haven't got Agrippa or Ptolemy.”

Harry unwrapped his Chocolate Frog and picked up the card. It showed a man's face. He wore half- moon glasses, had a long, crooked nose, and flowing silver hair, beard, and mustache. Underneath the picture was the name Albus Dumbledore.

“So this is Dumbledore!" said Harry.

“Don't tell me you'd never heard of Dumbledore!” said Ron. “Can I have a frog? I might get Agrippa. Thanks.”

Harry turned over his card and read:

ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

CURRENTLY HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS

Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.

Harry turned the card back over and saw, to his astonishment, that Dumbledore's face had disappeared.

“He's gone!” Harry said shocked.

“Well, you can't expect him to hang around all day,” said Ron, “He'll be back. No, I've got Morgana again and I've got about six of her... do you want it? You can start collecting.”

Ron's eyes strayed to the pile of Chocolate Frogs waiting to be unwrapped.

“Help yourself,” said Harry. “But in, you know, the Muggle world, people just stay put in photos.”

“Do they? What, they don't move at all?” Ron sounded amazed, “weird!”

“Muggles would say the same concerning pictures,” Constantine said as he picked up a chocolate frog, "but with the pictures moving being weird."

Harry stared as Dumbledore sidled back into the picture on his card and gave him a small smile. Ron was more interested in eating the frogs than looking at the Famous Witches and Wizards cards, but Harry couldn't keep his eyes off them. Soon he had not only Dumbledore and Morgana, but Hengist of Woodcroft, Alberic Grunnion, Circe, Paracelsus, and Merlin. He finally tore his eyes away from the druidess Cliodna, who was scratching her nose, to open a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

“You want to be careful with those,” Ron warned Harry. “When they say every flavor, they mean every flavor… you know, you get all the ordinary ones like chocolate and peppermint and marmalade, but then you can get spinach and liver and tripe. George reckons he had a booger flavored one once."

Ron picked up a green bean, looked at it carefully, and bit into a corner.

“Bleaaargh…” Ron said with a disgusted expression, “see? Sprouts.”

They had a good time eating the Every Flavor Beans. Harry got toast, coconut, baked bean, strawberry, curry, grass, coffee, sardine, and was even brave enough to nibble the end off a funny gray one Ron wouldn't touch, which turned out to be pepper.

The countryside now flying past the window was becoming wilder. The neat fields had gone. Now there were woods, twisting rivers, and dark green hills.

There was a knock on the door of their compartment and the round-faced boy Harry had passed on platform nine and three quarters came in. He looked tearful.

“Sorry,” he said, “but have you seen a toad at all?”

When they shook their heads, he wailed, “I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!”

“Piece of advice mate,” Constantine rolled his eyes, “Put a bloody GPS tracker in the nasty thing. That way you can find it easily instead of wailing when you don’t.”

“He'll turn up,” said Harry kindly as he gave a glare to John who was busy eating a piece of pizza.

“Yes," said the boy miserably. "Well, if you see him…”

At that, the boy left.

“Don't know why he's so bothered,” said Ron, “If I'd brought a toad I'd lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can't talk.”

“I have a feeling that the rodent brought you,” Constantine said with a frown as he looked at the rat.

“What do you mean?” Ron asked.

“It’s probably nothing,” John said dismissively as he chomped down on some more pizza. As he did that, Ron looked down at his lap.

The rat was still snoozing on Ron's lap.

“He might have died and you wouldn't know the difference,” said Ron in disgust, “I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn't work. I'll show you, look…”

He rummaged around in his trunk and pulled out a very battered-looking wand. It was chipped in places and something white was glinting at the end.

“Unicorn hair's nearly poking out,” Ron said as he prepared to do his spell, “Anyway-”

He had just raised his 'wand when the compartment door slid open again. The toadless boy was back, but this time he had a girl with him. She was already wearing her new Hogwarts robes. It was Hermione Granger. The first girl Constantine had met when he arrived at the train

“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one,” she said. She had a bossy sort of voice, lots of bushy brown hair, and rather large front teeth.

“We've already told him we haven't seen it,” said Ron, but the girl wasn't listening, she was looking at the wand in his hand.

“Oh, are you doing magic?” Hermione said interested, “Let's see it, then.”

She sat down. Ron looked taken aback.

“Er,” Ron said nervously, “alright.”

He cleared his throat.

“Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,” Ron began slowly then finished quickly, “Turn this stupid fat rat yellow.”

He waved his wand, but nothing happened. Scabbers stayed gray and fast asleep.

“Are you sure that's a real spell?” said the girl unimpressed, “Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard... I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough... I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you.”

She said all this very fast.

Harry looked at Ron, and was relieved to see by his stunned face that he hadn't learned all the course books by heart either.

“I'm Ron Weasley,” Ron muttered.

“Harry Potter, said Harry.

“Are you really?" said Hermione, “I know all about you, of course... I got a few extra books. for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.”

“Am I?” said Harry, feeling dazed.

“Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it was me,” said Hermione, “Do either of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad....”

Hermione then got up to leave, “Anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad.”

She then stopped before she left the compartment and looked at the boys, “Hello John. Nice to see you again. In any case, you three had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon.”

And she left, taking the toadless boy with her.

“Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it,” said Ron. He threw his wand back into his trunk, “Stupid spell. George gave it to me, bet he knew it was a dud.”

“Judging by the way he messed with you earlier,” John said grimly, “I’m not surprised.”

“What house are your brothers in?” asked Harry.

“Gryffindor,” said Ron. Gloom seemed to be settling on him again as he continued, “Mom and Dad were in it, too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin.”

“That's the house Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Who was in?” Harry asked.

“Yeah,” said Ron. He flopped back into his seat, looking depressed.

“You know, I think the ends of Scabbers' whiskers are a bit lighter,” said Harry, trying to take Ron's mind off houses, “So what do your oldest brothers do now that they've left, anyway?”

Harry was wondering what a wizard did once he'd finished school.

“Charlie's in Romania studying dragons, and Bill's in Africa doing something for Gringotts,” said Ron, “Did you hear about Gringotts? It's been all over the Daily Prophet, but I don't suppose you get that with the Muggles. Someone tried to rob a high security vault.”

Harry stared.

“Really?” Harry asked intrigued, “What happened to them?”

“Nothing, that's why it's such big news,” Ron said, “They haven't been caught. My dad says it must've been a powerful Dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but they don't think they took anything, that's what's odd. 'Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who's behind it.”

Harry turned this news over in his mind. He was starting to get a prickle of fear every time You- Know-Who was mentioned. He supposed this was all part of entering the magical world, but it had been a lot more comfortable saying “Voldemort” without worrying.

“What's your Quidditch team?” Ron asked.

“Er… I don't know any,” Harry confessed.

“What!” Ron looked dumbfounded, “Oh, you wait, it's the best game in the world…”

And he was off, explaining all about the four balls and the positions of the seven players, describing famous games he'd been to with his brothers and the broomstick he'd like to get if he had the money. He was just taking Harry through the finer points of the game when the compartment door slid open yet again, but it wasn't Neville the toadless boy, or Hermione Granger this time.

Three boys entered, and Harry recognized the middle one at once: it was the pale boy from Madam Malkin's robe shop. He was looking at Harry with a lot more interest than he'd shown back in Diagon Alley.

“Is it true?” he said coldly, “They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?”

“Yes,” said Harry. He was looking at the other boys. Both of them were thickset and looked extremely mean. Standing on either side of the pale boy, they looked like bodyguards.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," said the pale boy carelessly, noticing where Harry was looking. “And my name's-”

“Malfoy,” John practically snarled, “Draco Malfoy.”

Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger. Draco Malfoy looked at him.

“Think my name's funny, do you?” Draco sneered, “No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford.”

He turned back to Harry.

“You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter,” Draco said as he held out his hand, “You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.”

“I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks,” he said coolly.

Draco Malfoy didn't go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks.

“I'd be careful if I were you, Potter,” he said slowly, “Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you. Same goes for traitors like John Constantine and his hag of a mother.”

That is when John constantine charged at Malfoy, but both Ron and Harry held him back.

“Don’t you ever speak about my mother like that again you prick!” John snarled, “You do, and you’ll regret it. Mark my words Malfoy, mark my words.”

“You’re mother is as much of a blood traitor as the Weasleys,” Draco sneered.

That is when Ron lost his cool, but when Harry looked at him he just stood back.

“Say that again,” Ron said, his face as red as his hair.

“Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?” Malfoy sneered.

“Unless you get out now,” said Harry, more bravely than he felt, because Crabbe and Goyle were a lot bigger than him or Ron.

“But we don't feel like leaving, do we, boys?” Draco sneered, “We've eaten all our food and you still seem to have some.”

Goyle reached toward the Chocolate Frogs next to Ron... Ron leapt forward, but before he'd so much as touched Goyle, Goyle let out a horrible yell.

Scabbers the rat was hanging off his finger, sharp little teeth sunk deep into Goyle's knuckle... Crabbe and Malfoy backed away as Goyle swung Scabbers round and round, howling, and when Scabbers finally flew off and hit the window, all three of them disappeared at once. Perhaps they thought there were more rats lurking among the sweets, or perhaps they'd heard footsteps, because a second later, Hermione Granger had come in.

“What has been going on?” she said, looking at the sweets all over the floor and Ron picking up Scabbers by his tail.

“I think he's been knocked out,” Ron said to Harry. He looked closer at Scabbers and added in disbelief, “No… I don't believe it… he's gone back to sleep...”

And so he had.

“Malfoy happened,” John said as he pulled out another piece of paper and spread it on the floor where he gathered all the trash.

“What are you doing?” Hermione asked confused.

“Stick around and you’ll see,” John grinned.

He then got into the pose he did before as he prepared to say his new spell.

“Ne hoc purgamentum facti sunt pulvis, pulvis et auferet, et succendam,” John chanted and that’s when all of the wrappers and crumbs he could find turned into dust. The next second later, the window opened and all of the dust blew out the window.

“What kind of magic is that?” Hermione asked in surprise.

“It’s basically muggle magic,” John explained as he picked up the piece of paper, “I don’t know many of the spells, but I know a fair amount.”

“You’ve met Malfoy before?” Ron asked Harry once they explained everything that happened.

Harry explained about his first meeting with Draco in Diagon Alley. John on the other hand stayed silent.

“I've heard of his family,” said Ron darkly. “They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn't believe it. He says Malfoy's father didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side.”

He turned to Hermione, “Can we help you with something?”

“You'd better hurry up and put your robes on,” Hermione said sternly, “I've just been up to the front to ask the conductor, and he says we're nearly there. You haven't been fighting, have you? You'll be in trouble before we even get there!”

“Scabbers has been fighting, not us,” said Ron defensively as he scowled at her, “Would you mind leaving while we change?”

“Alright I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors,” said Hermione in a sniffy voice obviously hurt, “And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?”

Ron glared at her as she left. Harry peered out of the window. It was getting dark. He could see mountains and forests under a deep purple sky. The train did seem to be slowing down. He, Ron, and John took off their jackets and pulled on their long black robes. Ron's were a bit short for him, you could see his sneakers underneath them.

A voice echoed through the train, _“We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.”_

Harry's stomach lurched with nerves and Ron, he saw, looked pale under his freckles. They crammed their pockets with the last of the sweets and joined the crowd thronging the corridor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Latin to English:  
> 1.Ne hunc cibum in quisquiliarum transform deorum -> Let this garbage transform into food of the gods.
> 
> 2\. Ne hoc purgamentum facti sunt pulvis, pulvis et auferet, et succendam -> Let this trash become dust, and blow the dust away.


	2. The Sorting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Constantine gets sorted. other Constantine characters make their first appearance, and John interacts with Peeves.

Chapter 2: The Sorting

 

The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way toward the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. Harry shivered in the cold night air. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Harry heard a familiar voice, “Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there, Harry?”

Hagrid’s big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads.

“C'mon, follow me,” Hagrid continued, “any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!”

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Harry thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. Neville, the boy who kept losing his toad, sniffed once or twice.

“Ye' all get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec,” Hagrid called over his shoulder, “jus' round this bend here.”

There was a loud “Oooooh!”

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

“No more'n four to a boat!” Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Harry and Ron were followed into their boat by Neville, John Constantine, and Hermione. John had somehow managed to make himself light enough to not sink the boat as he was the fifth person in Harry's boat.

“Everyone in?” shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself, “Right then… FORWARD!”

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

“Heads down!” yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

“Oy, you there! Is this your toad?” said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

“Trevor!” cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands. Then they clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, Oak front door.

“Everyone here?” Hagrid called out making one last check, “You there, still got yer toad?”

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door. The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought was that this was not someone to cross.

“The firs' years, Professor McGonagall,” said Hagrid.

“Thank you, Hagrid,” Professor McGonagall said kindly without changing her expression, “I will take them from here.”

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have fit the whole of the Dursleys' house in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right, the rest of the school must already be here, but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Professor McGonagall, “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.”

“The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin,” Professor McGonagall continued, “Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.”

“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school,” Professor McGonagall finished, “I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.”

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ron's smudged nose. Harry nervously tried to flatten his hair.

“I shall return when we are ready for you,” said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly.”

She left the chamber. Harry swallowed.

“How exactly do they sort us into houses?” he asked Ron.

“Some sort of test, I think,” Ron replied, “Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking.”

Harry's heart gave a horrible jolt. A test? In front of the whole school? But he didn't know any magic yet... what on earth would he have to do? He hadn't expected something like this the moment they arrived. He looked around anxiously and saw that everyone else looked terrified, too. No one was talking much except Hermione Granger, who was whispering very fast about all the spells she'd learned and wondering which one she'd need. Harry tried hard not to listen to her. He'd never been more nervous, never, not even when he'd had to take a school report home to the Dursleys saying that he'd somehow turned his teacher's wig blue. He kept his eyes fixed on the door. Any second now, Professor McGonagall would come back and lead him to his doom.

Then something happened that made him jump about a foot in the air, several people behind him screamed.

“What the-” Harry gasped when he saw what they were screaming about. So did the people around him. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying, “Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance-”

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves?” countered the other ghost, “He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost… I say, what are you all doing here?”

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

“We’re here for the sorting,” John spoke up as he stepped to the front, “Now let me ask you something, you spectral monsters. What the bloody hell is your business haunting a school?!”

“We are ghosts dear boy,” said the one in the ruff and tights, “Our business is that we are the school ghosts. We have always been here since we died. Of course, staying is a choice.”

“Don’t you regret it?” asked Hermione, “I mean, it’s got to be incredibly lonely.”

“Sometimes my dear,” the one in the ruff admitted, “Other times, we are glad cause we get to know that wizardkind survives long after our deaths.”

“Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know.”

“Move along now,” said a sharp voice. “The Sorting Ceremony's about to start.”

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

“Now, form a line,” Professor McGonagall told the first years, “and follow me.”

Feeling oddly as though his legs had turned to lead, Harry got into line behind a boy with sandy hair, with Ron behind him, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Harry had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. He heard Hermione whisper, “Its bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History.”

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on to the heavens.

“Aye,” Constantine agreed, “The sorting object is enchanted as well according to Hogwarts: A History.”

“Do you know what the object is?” Harry asked looking at John.

“Don’t know,” Constantine shrugged, “But we’re about to find out anyway.”

Harry quickly looked forward again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let it in the house.

“I’m going to assume that’s the sorting object,” Constantine said when he too saw it.

Maybe they had to try and get a rabbit out of it, Harry thought wildly, that seemed the sort of thing, noticing that everyone in the hall was now staring at the hat, he stared at it, too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and the hat began to sing:

“Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

If you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!”

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

“So we've just got to try on the hat!” Ron whispered to Harry, “I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll.”

Harry smiled weakly. Yes, trying on the hat was a lot better than having to do a spell, but he did wish they could have tried it on without everyone watching. The hat seemed to be asking rather a lot; Harry didn't feel brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. If only the hat had mentioned a house for people who felt a bit queasy, that would have been the one for him.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she said. “Abbott, Hannah!”

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment’s pause…

“HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Harry saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

“Bones, Susan!” McGonagall called out.

“HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

“Boot, Terry!” McGonagall called.

“RAVENCLAW!” the hat yelled.

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

“Brocklehurst, Mandy” went to Ravenclaw too, but “Brown, Lavender” became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Harry could see Ron's twin brothers catcalling.

“Bulstrode, Millicent” then became a Slytherin. Perhaps it was Harry's imagination, after all he'd heard about Slytherin, but he thought they looked like an unpleasant lot. He was starting to feel definitely sick now. He remembered being picked for teams during gym at his old school. He had always been last to be chosen, not because he was no good, but because no one wanted Dudley to think they liked him.

“Constantine, John!” McGonagall yelled.

John Constantine had a grim expression as he headed towards the hat, and it if at all possible it grew grimmer when he saw Draco Malfoy sneering knowingly.

“Not Slytherin,” John said after he put on the hat, “Anything but Slytherin.”

“Are you sure?” the hat asked inside his head, “Everything in your mind just speaks Slytherin. You have bravery yes, very intelligent, loyal to a fault, but your knack for using any means to complete your goals far outweighs any of that.”

“Not Slytherin,” John said stubbornly.

“Very well,” the hat responded, “In that case, it better be…”

“RAVENCLAW!” the hat yelled which gave John a bit of a headache.

John stood up as he removed the hat, and after he placed it down on the stool he headed next to the Ravenclaw table. He saw Malfoy glaring at him with a scowl, and that brightened his day. He then sat down next to an older man with glasses to his right and an asian woman to his left.

He was congratulated, but he ignored them as he focused on the sorting ceremony.

“Chandler, Chas!” McGonagall called.

A kid that had a fair amount of muscles walked over to the sorting hat and after a minute of waiting the hat announced its decision.

“GRYFFINDOR!” the hat shouted.

John watched Chas walk over to the Gryffindor table and set down next to the Weasley twins.

“Finch-Fletchley, Justin!” McGonagall called.

“HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the hat.

Sometimes, Harry noticed, the hat shouted out the house at once, but at others it took a little while to decide. “Finnigan, Seamus,” the sandy-haired boy next to Harry in the line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

“Faust, Felix,” McGonagall called.

John narrowed his eyes as he saw a kid with an evil expression on his face walk up to the sorting hat, and just before it was about to touch his head it shouted “SLYTHERIN!”

“Granger, Hermione,” McGonagall called attracting John’s attention.

Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

“GRYFFINDOR!” shouted the hat. Ron groaned.

A horrible thought struck Harry, as horrible thoughts always do when you're very nervous. What if he wasn't chosen at all? What if he just sat there with the hat over his eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked it off his head and said there had obviously been a mistake and he'd better get back on the train?

“Lester, Gary!” McGonagall called.

A shrimpy looking character that was scratching his arms and had obvious heroin needle marks all across his arm walked up to the sorting hat.

“HUFFLEPUFF!” the hat called. John watched Gary Lester walk over to the Hufflepuff table and some of them looked to be lecturing him once they notices the needle marks on his skin.

When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted, “GRYFFINDOR,” Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to “MacDougal, Morag.”

Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called and got his wish at once: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, “SLYTHERIN!”

Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.

“Marie, Anne!” McGonagall called.

John couldn’t take his eyes off of the brunette as she walked up to the hat. Unlike the others, she just captivated him. Her beauty was acting like a magnet does to metal. He didn’t even hear the hat call out her house, but noticed that she was heading to his table once she had been sorted. She saw him looking at her as she passed by his seat. He didn’t stop staring till she was out of his line of sight which was at the furthest point from his seat.

There weren't many people left now, “Moon” “Nott” “Parkinson” then a pair of twin girls, “Patil” and “Patil” then “Perks, Sally-Anne” and then, at last, “Potter, Harry!”

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

“Potter, did she say?”

“The Harry Potter?”

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

John and everyone else looked at the hat patiently as it seemed to be taking a long time.

“What house do you think he’s going to get?” the asian woman next to John asked.

“Hundred Galleons says he’s going to get into Gryffindor,” John said.

“I’ll take those odds,” the older man next to John said, “Prepare to lose your money though.”

“Since I’ve actually spent some time with the wanker,” Constantine reasoned, “I’d say I have more of a chance of being right about him.”

“Quiet!” hissed the Prefect, “No gambling at school!”

At that point the hat broke the silence.

“GRYFFINDOR!” the hat yelled.

John watched as Harry took off the hat and walked shakily toward the Gryffindor table. He was so relieved to have been chosen and not put in Slytherin, he hardly noticed that he was getting the loudest cheer yet. Percy the Prefect got up and shook his hand vigorously, while the Weasley twins yelled, “We got Potter! We got Potter!” Harry sat down opposite the ghost in the ruff he'd seen earlier. The ghost patted his arm, giving Harry the sudden, horrible feeling he'd just plunged it into a bucket of ice-cold water.

He could see the High Table properly now. At the end nearest him sat Hagrid, who caught his eye and gave him the thumbs up. Harry grinned back. And there, in the center of the High Table, in a large gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. Harry recognized him at once from the card he'd gotten out of the Chocolate Frog on the train. Dumbledore's silver hair was the only thing in the whole hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts. Harry spotted Professor Quirrell too, the nervous young man from the Leaky Cauldron. He was looking very peculiar in a large purple turban.

And now there were only three people left to be sorted. “Thomas, Dean,” a Black boy even taller than Ron, joined Harry at the Gryffindor table. “Turpin, Lisa,” became a Ravenclaw and then it was Ron's turn. He was pale green by now. Harry crossed his fingers under the table and a second later the hat had shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!”

Harry clapped loudly with the rest as Ron collapsed into the chair next to him.

“Well done, Ron, excellent,” said Percy Weasley pompously across Harry as “Zabini, Blaise,” was made a Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.

John and Harry looked down at their empty gold plates unknowingly in unison. They had only just realized how hungry they were. The pumpkin pasties and magic pizza seemed ages ago. Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

“Welcome,” he said, “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are. Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!”

“Thank you!” Dumbledore said before he sat down.

“Geezer’s a bit mad isn’t he,” snorted Constantine as everyone clapped and cheered.

“Mad?" said the older man next to him airily, “He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, John?”

John's mouth fell open. The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. It’s not so much the magic, but the volume of food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

John had never exactly starved during his life as a homeless person, but he'd never been able to eat as much as he liked. Not even his magic trick could satisfy him. As much of the magical food he ate, he was always hungry. At a nutritional value that is. At the Gryffindor table, Harry piled his plate with a bit of everything except the peppermints and began to eat. It was all delicious.

“That does look good,” said the ghost in the ruff sadly, watching Harry cut up his steak.

“Can’t you-” began Harry sympathetically and confused.

“I haven't eaten for nearly four hundred years,” said the ghost. “I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower.”

“I know who you are!” said Ron suddenly, “My brothers told me about you… you're Nearly Headless Nick!”

“I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy…” the ghost began stiffly, but sandy-haired Seamus Finnigan interrupted.

“Nearly Headless?” Seamus asked skeptically, “How can you be nearly headless?”

Sir Nicholas looked extremely miffed, as if their little chat wasn't going at all the way he wanted.

“Like this,” he said irritably. He seized his left ear and pulled. His whole head swung off his neck and fell onto his shoulder as if it was on a hinge. Someone had obviously tried to behead him, but not done it properly. Looking pleased at the stunned looks on their faces, Nearly Headless Nick flipped his head back onto his neck, coughed, and said, “So… new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the house championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable… he's the Slytherin ghost.”

Harry looked over at the Slytherin table and saw a horrible ghost sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood. He was right next to Malfoy who, Harry was pleased to see, didn't look too pleased with the seating arrangements.

“How did he get covered in blood?” asked Seamus with great interest.

“I've never asked,” said Nearly Headless Nick delicately.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding…

Back at the Ravenclaw table, John helped himself to a treacle tart, the talk turned to their families. He really just tuned them out because he didn’t really care, however he was forced into the conversation.

“So John,” asked the older man as he put some jello into his mouth, “What about your family?”

“Not much to say,” Constantine shrugged avoiding the question, “Never did get your name anyway. What is it?”

“It’s Ritchie Simpson,” Ritchie answered, “I’m a third year. Now, answer the question.”

“Dad’s a preacher and mum was a witch,” Constantine said bluntly, “I’d rather not talk about my sister. Might not go well with some folk here.”

“Oof,” Ritchie said not completely understanding but accepting, “Well, I’m muggle-born myself. They’re teachers at Oxford. If I ever teach, I’d prefer to do it in America. At least there I don’t have to have a license to watch tv.”

**With Harry…**

Harry listened with great interest as his schoolmates told of their families and whatnot. He then turned his full attention to Ron when he spoke up.

“What about you, Neville?” said Ron.

“Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," said Neville, “but the family thought I was all Muggle for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me...he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned, but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced… all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here… they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad.”

On Harry's other side, Percy Weasley and Hermione were talking about lessons.

“I do hope they start right away,” Hermione said, “there's so much to learn, I'm particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else, of course, it's supposed to be very difficult-”

“You'll be starting small,” Percy interrupted her, “just matches into needles and that sort of thing…”

Harry and John, who were starting to feel warm and sleepy, looked up at the High Table again once again in unison. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin. It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban straight into Harry's eyes… and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead.

“Ouch!” Harry clapped a hand to his head.

“What is it?” asked Percy concerned for himself only.

“N-nothing,” Harry lied.

The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling Harry had gotten from the teacher's look… a feeling that he didn't like Harry at all.

“Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?” he asked Percy.

“Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you?” Percy replied, “No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to… everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape.”

Harry watched Snape for a while, but Snape didn't look at him again.

Unlike Harry, John got a bad vibe off of Quirrell as he watched him talk with the pale faced oily haired man.

“Oi, Ritchie,” John said as he picked up a gummy worm, “Who is turban boy over there?”

“That is Professor Quirrell,” Ritchie replied as he sipped on a vanilla shake, “He teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts, why do you ask?”

“I just have a bad feeling whenever I look at him is all,” Constantine replied.

As John was chewing his last handful of gummies, the desserts too disappeared. Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again stopping any more chances of conversation. The hall fell silent.

“Ahern… just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered,” Dumbledore said, “I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.”

“Better not be bippity boppity boo,” John muttered rolling his eyes, “I’m too tired for pointless gibberish.”

“First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils,” Dumbledore said, “And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.”

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.

“I have also been asked by Mr. Filch,” Dumbledore continued, “the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.”

“Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term,” Dumbledore continued, “Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.”

“And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death,” Dumbledore finished.

“Looks like I’ve found two places to put on my to do list,” Constantine grinned.

“You do know that if you do go into those areas there are chances of being expelled,” Ritchie warned John.

“Oh, come on Ritchie,” John grinned, “What’s life without a little risk, besides you can’t tell me that you’re not itching to know.”

“Everyone knows there are dangerous beasts in the Forbidden Forest!” Ritchie countered.

“What about the third-floor corridor on the right hand side?” John asked, “I doubt that they’d tell the students that.”

“They wouldn’t,” the Ravenclaw prefect said, “They’d normally tell the Prefects though, so I have to agree it is enticing to go on such an adventure. However, rules are rules.”

“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” cried Dumbledore. John noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

“No,” Constantine said decisively, “I’m not singing this stupid song.”

“Everyone pick their favorite tune,” said Dumbledore, “"and off we go!” And the school bellowed:

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff,

For now they're bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff,

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we've forgot,

Just do your best, we'll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot.

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest. John was the only one that had plugged his ears with his fingers.

“Ah, music,” he said, wiping his eyes when the clapping had subsided, “A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”

“Music ain’t magic,” John said irritably, “It’s just really annoying.”

The Ravenclaw first years followed the prefect now known as Robert Hilliar through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. John’s legs were like lead again, but only because he was so tired and full of food. He was too sleepy even to be annoyed that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed, or that twice Robert led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. They climbed more staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, and John was just wondering how much farther they had to go when they came to a sudden halt.

A bundle of walking sticks was floating in midair ahead of them, and as Robert took a step toward them they started throwing themselves at him.

“Peeves,” Robert whispered to the first years, “A poltergeist.”

He raised his voice, “Peeves… show yourself.”

A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered. John in irritation stepped forward.

“John get back,” Robert ordered, “Peeves is dangerous.”

“Oh don’t you worry Robert,” John said as he looked around, “This ain’t my first poltergeist.”

“Not his first poltergeist?” asked several of the Ravenclaws.

“Peeves is it?” John asked, “Why don’t you come down here and face me yourself instead of sending tricks my way like a bloody coward?”

There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.

“Oooooooh!” he said, with an evil cackle. “Ickle Firsties! What fun!”

He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked.

“What do you want?!” John demanded as he held his arms to the side, “Other than to generally cause mayhem and anger everyone around you.”

“What does Peeves want?” Peeves asked genuinely shocked that someone asked him that, “Peeves wants… Peeves doesn’t know what he wants.”

“Then why don’t you go figure that out mate,” John advised, “However, if its a danger to the people at this school I’ll have to exorcise you from the castle.”

As soon as Peeves left everyone looked at John. some with admiration, some with irritation, and others just looked at him.

“That,” Robert said, “was reckless. You could’ve gotten yourself seriously injured.”

“I told you,” John said, “That wasn’t my first poltergeist.”

“Just who are you?” Robert asked what everyone was thinking.

“John Constantine,” John replied, “Demonologist, Exorcist in training, and, as of tomorrow, wizard.”

“You want to watch out for Peeves,” said Robert to the other students, as they set off again. “The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, he won't even listen to us prefects. Actually, I guess he will listen to John here… anyway, here we are.”

They stopped in front of a door without a doorknob or keyhole, but a bronze knocker in the shape of an eagle.

“Unlike the other common rooms this door requires one to answer questions instead of using passwords,” Robert explained as he turned to the first years, “If you answer incorrectly, you’ll have to wait till someone else gets it right. Observe.”

“Under pressure is the only way I work…” the knocker asked, “and by myself is the only way I hurt… What am I?”

“The answer is,” Robert replied, “A diamond.”

With that, the door opened revealing a room. It is a wide, circular room with a midnight blue carpet, arched windows hung with blue and bronze silks, and a domed ceiling painted with stars. During the day, Ravenclaw students have an excellent view of the school grounds, including the lake, Forbidden Forest, Quidditch pitch, Herbology gardens and the surrounding mountains. The room is furnished with tables, chairs, and bookcases; and by the door leading up to the dormitories stands a tall statue of Rowena Ravenclaw made of white marble.

Robert directed the girls through one door to their dormitory and the boys through another. At the top of a spiral staircase, they were obviously in one of the towers, they found their beds at last. Five four-posters hung with deep blue, velvet curtains. Their trunks had already been brought up. Too tired to talk much, they pulled on their pajamas and fell into bed. John was just too tired to speak, and conked out the second he hit his bed.


	3. The First Week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John bottles Peeves, meets Hagrid, saves Neville, and meets his new best friend Chas Chandler. Snape punishes him for nothing worth getting punished.

Chapter 3: The First Week

 

John Constantine slowly woke in his four poster bed and stared up at the top before he rolled into a sitting position and placed his feet on the floor. Once he was dressed, he headed down into the common room. He now wore similar robes as the previous night, but this time he wore a tie which had the Ravenclaw colors on it. He looked around and saw that the common room was pretty empty except for a few nerds that had decided to eat their breakfast while reading their textbooks. Unlike them, he decided to go down into the cafeteria. He found out that Harry wasn’t the only one that was the “talk of the town” as the saying goes. The fact that he was able to convince Peeves to stop bothering people for the night got around. He heard people talking about him as he passed by.

“There, look.”

“Where?”

“How could that kid talk down a poltergeist?”

When Constantine arrived he saw that the Ravenclaws were busy eating, but before he could enter the cafeteria he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He quickly looked around and saw Felix Faust walking his way.

“So,” Felix said as he passed Constantine, “You’re an exorcist. Heh heh heh. This should be fun.”

“Bloody git gives me the willies,” Constantine muttered before he turned back into the cafeteria and walked over to the Ravenclaw table. He then ate in silence as he considered the previous night’s events and this morning’s as well. He didn’t even notice someone stop behind him.

“Congratulations on last night Mr. Constantine,” said a voice behind him.

Constantine slowly turned around and saw Snape standing there looking evil as always.

“Not many can take on Peeves without getting hurt,” Snape said, “You might want to be wary of Quirrell though. He might think you’re trying to take his job.”

“Is that supposed to be a joke?” Constantine asked, “I can’t tell if it is a joke based on your expression.”

Snape merely turned away and walked towards the cafeteria’s exit.

“Who shoved a stick up his arse?” Constantine grumbled. When breakfast was over, he began heading towards his first class of the day. He managed to ignore everyone as he made his way to class. It was a long and kinda boring process especially since there were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts. Wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and John was sure the coats of armor could walk.

The ghosts didn't help, either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. Nearly Headless Nick was always happy to point new Gryffindors in the right direction, but Peeves the Poltergeist was worth two locked doors and a trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class. He would drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your nose, and screech, “GOT YOUR CONK!”

That is exactly what happened to one of the new Gryffindors that Constantine came across on the way to class.

“Peeves!” Constantine yelled, “I thought I told you to go find out what you wanted!”

“Peeves did find out,” Peeves answered giddily, “Peeves just wants Anarchy!”

“Then you leave me no choice mate,” Constantine said as he pulled out a special vial, “It’s time to turn you into my own personal genie.”

“What does that mean?” Peeves asked right before he was sucked into the vial as Constantine removed the cap.

“It means I’m trapping you in this until you learn to behave,” Constantine said to the screaming form inside of the vial.

“Thanks man,” said the Gryffindor who was surprisingly American.

“Thought you Americans were supposed to go to Ilvermorny,” John said to the Gryffindor as they continued their walk.

“I’m living with my uncle,” the Gryffindor replied, “He takes care of me now that my parents are gone.”

“You’re lucky mate,” Constantine said, “I don’t have anyone. What’s your name anyway?”

“Chas Chandler,” Chas said as he held out his hand.

“John Constantine,” Constantine said as he shook Chas’ hand, “Demonologist, exorcist in training, and wizard.”

“Your famous around here,” Chas remarked, “I can see that your fame is justly earned though.”

“Being famous is not why I do what I do,” Constantine grunted, “I do what I do, because nobody else can or will.”

**With Harry…**

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Harry and Ron managed to get on the wrong side of him on their very first morning. Filch found them trying to force their way through a door that unluckily turned out to be the entrance to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor. He wouldn't believe they were lost, was sure they were trying to break into it on purpose, and was threatening to lock them in the dungeons when they were rescued by Professor Quirrell, who was passing.

Filch owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, dust-colored creature with bulging, lamp like eyes just like Filch's. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone (except perhaps the Weasley twins) and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs. Norris a good kick.

And then, once you had managed to find them, there were the classes themselves. There was a lot more to magic, as Harry quickly found out, than waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout, where they learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for.

Easily the most boring class was History of Magic, which was the only one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates, and got Emetic the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first class he took the roll call, and when he reached Harry's name he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight.

Professor McGonagall was again different. Harry had been quite right to think she wasn't a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class.

“Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts,” she said. “Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned.”

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realized they weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only Hermione Granger and John Constantine had made any differences to their matches; Professor McGonagall showed the class how they had gone all silver and pointy and gave both Hermione and John a rare smile.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believed this story. For one thing, when Seamus Finnigan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather; for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and the Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

“What a load of rubbish,” Constantine scoffed to the twins, “I’ve read of Professor Quirrell and it all screams fraud to me. Don’t know how he managed to keep his bloody job when he doesn’t know a damn thing, and vampires being warded off by garlic? Come on. Every Demonologist worth a damn knows that garlic is nothing to them. Only thing that can take them down is a good ol’ beheading. After all, everything has a knack for survival. That is why they would spread such bullshite as vampires are invisible when you look at them in the mirror.”

“You could get in trouble for saying that,” Fred or George said, “Talking ill about a teacher is never good.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Constantine reasoned.

**Back with Harry…**

Harry was very relieved to find out that he wasn't miles behind everyone else. Lots of people had come from Muggle families and, like him, hadn't had any idea that they were witches and wizards. There was so much to learn that even people like Ron didn't have much of a head start.

Friday was an important day for Harry and Ron. They finally managed to find their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost once.

“What have we got today?” Harry asked Ron as he poured sugar on his porridge.

“Double Potions with the Slytherins,” said Ron, “Snape's Head of Slytherin House. They say he always favors them… we'll be able to see if it's true.”

“Might be true,” Constantine said as he sat next to them and Chas, “but I have a feeling he might just be hard on Gryffindor because of you Potter.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked confused.

“I had a chat with Peeves last night before bed,” Constantine said, “He told me a great many things about past students.”

“I’m still amazed you managed to capture a poltergeist,” Ron said in obvious awe, “Can we see it?”

“Aye,” Constantine said as he pulled out the vial, “Here’s the wanker.”

“What kind of vial is that?” Ron asked.

“It’s enchanted,” said Hermione as she sat down across from them, “Not with any enchantment I know of though.”

“That’s because it was enchanted by an ancient Greek wizard,” Constantine explained as he put it away, “You know of the Labyrinth yes?”

“Daedalus was a scientist,” Hermione said skeptically, “Not a wizard, and he was a muggle.”

“Aye he was,” Constantine agreed, “However, he had a knack for magic. How else could he get those wings to work as well as they did. Muggle-magic has its uses, but not really useful for flying.”

“Muggle-magic,” scoffed Hermione, “as if.”

“Wish McGonagall favored us,” said Harry changing the subject. Professor McGonagall was head of Gryffindor House, but it hadn't stopped her from giving them a huge pile of homework the day before.

Just then, the mail arrived. Harry had gotten used to this by now, but it had given him a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters and packages onto their laps.

Hedwig hadn't brought Harry anything so far. She sometimes flew in to nibble his ear and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the owlery with the other school owls. This morning, however, she fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note onto Harry's plate. Harry tore it open at once. It said, in a very untidy scrawl:

_Dear Harry,_

_I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three?_

_I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig._

_Hagrid_

Harry borrowed Ron's quill, scribbled Yes, please, see you later on the back of the note, and sent Hedwig off again.

“Oh, I’m tagging along mate,” Constantine said, “I’ve been looking for a reason to meet the half-giant anyway.”

Only Hermione noticed as John stealthily put a package that came for him into the pockets of his robes.

It was lucky that Harry had tea with Hagrid to look forward to, because the Potions lesson turned out to be the worst thing that had happened to him so far.

At the start-of-term banquet, Harry had gotten the idea that Professor Snape disliked him. By the end of the first Potions lesson, he knew he'd been wrong. Snape didn't dislike Harry… he hated him. Constantine was right.

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at Harry's name.

“Ah, Yes,” he said softly, “Harry Potter. Our new… celebrity.”

Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of Hagrid's warmth. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels.

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking,” he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word… like Professor McGonagall, Snape had you catch every word… like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort, “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses.... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death… if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”

More silence followed this little speech. Harry and Ron exchanged looks with raised eyebrows. Hermione Granger was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.

“Potter!” said Snape suddenly. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Powdered root of what to an infusion of what? Harry glanced at Ron, who looked as stumped as he was; Hermione's hand had shot into the air. Constantine however, pulled her arm down and shook his head “no.” Hermione then recalled what Constantine said earlier in the cafeteria and what the rumor was. With that she resigned to just sitting there.

“I don't know, sir,” said Harry.

Snape's lips curled into a sneer.

“Tut, tut… fame clearly isn't everything.”

“Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

Hermione had to force herself not to stretch her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat, but Harry didn't have the faintest idea what a bezoar was. He tried not to look at Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were shaking with laughter.

“I don't know, sir.”

“Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?” Harry forced himself to keep looking straight into those cold eyes. He had looked through his books at the Dursleys', but did Snape expect him to remember everything in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi?

“What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

This time Hermione stood up with her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling.

"I don't know," said Harry quietly, “”I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?”

A few people laughed; Harry caught Seamus's eye, and Seamus winked. Snape, however, was not pleased.

“Sit down,” he snapped at Hermione, “For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite.”

“Well?” Snape demanded when he saw everyone just sitting there, “Why aren't you all copying that down?”

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, “And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter.”

“Excuse me Professor,” Constantine said unable to keep his rage at Snape’s attitude in any longer, “But Harry Potter was just asking a completely logical question. He wasn’t giving cheek. Now why don’t you tell us why you are so harsh on Potter? Does he bring bad memories to the forefront of your mind whenever you look at him? If so, then you shouldn’t punish him for that. It’s not his bloody fault!”

“10 points from Ravenclaw Mr. Constantine,” Snape snarled, “Any more from you and you’ll be spending the year cleaning the bathroom floors with your tongue!”

Things didn't improve for the Gryffindors or Ravenclaws as the Potions lesson continued. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

“Idiot boy!” snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand, “I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?”

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

“Take him up to the hospital wing,” Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on Harry and Ron, who had been working next to Neville.

“You… Potter… why didn't you tell him not to add the quills?” Snape growled, “Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor.”

This was so unfair that Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Ron kicked him behind their cauldron.

“Don’t push it,” he muttered, “I've heard Snape can turn very nasty, just like he did with John.”

As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Harry's mind was racing and his spirits were low. He'd lost two points for Gryffindor in his very first week… why did Snape hate him so much?

“Cheer up,” said Ron, “Snape's always taking points off Fred and George. Can I come and meet Hagrid with you?”

“Also,” Hermione said from behind, “He was far harsher on Constantine than he was on you. He took ten points from Ravenclaw just cause Constantine was making sense.”

“I think it was cause I let slip that I knew about his past,” Constantine facepalmed, “Also, I was defending Potter.”

“My name is Harry,” Harry reminded John.

“If it’s alright with you,” Constantine said, “I’ll stick with Potter. Whenever I hear your first name said I think of an animal.”

“Fine,” Harry said not fine with it at all.

At five to three they left the castle and made their way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door.

When Harry knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, “Back, Fang… back.”

Hagrid's big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.

“Hang on,” he said, “Back, Fang.”

He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound. There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

“Make yerselves at home,” said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Ron and started licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked.

“Looks like you found yourself a girlfriend, mate,” Constantine chuckled.

“This is Ron,” Harry told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.

“Another Weasley, eh?” said Hagrid, glancing at Ron's freckles, “I spent half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest.”

The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke their teeth, but Harry, Ron, and Constantine pretended to be enjoying them as they told Hagrid all about their first lessons. Fang rested his head on Harry's knee and drooled all over his robes.

Harry and Ron were delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch “that old git.”

“An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris,” Hagrid said, “I'd like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can't get rid of her... Filch puts her up to it.”

Harry told Hagrid about Snape's lesson. Hagrid, like Ron, told Harry not to worry about it, that Snape liked hardly any of the students. He also said the same to Constantine.

“Does he ever congratulate students?” Constantine asked.

“Not from what I remember,” Hagrid said.

“Well,” Constantine said, “He had congratulated me for talking down Peeves. On the first day of school.”

“That was you?” Hagrid asked astonished, “That is quite the accomplishment. Good on ya.”

“Yeah,” Ron spoke up, “He also captured it as well. Show him.”

“Wow,” Hagrid said, “I’d like ter personally thank ya. Whenever I go up there by meself, that ruttin’ poltergeist seems ter target me with hate.”

“Maybe it doesn’t like giants or in your case half-giants,” Constantine shrugged.

“Ya ever gonna release it?” Hagrid asked.

“I’m sort of trying to train it,” Constantine explained, “Once it decides to act as a spirit of protection instead of a spirit of anarchy, I’ll let it go. Either that, or I’ll just send the git to hell.”

“Snape seemed to really hate me,” Harry said bringing them back on topic.

“Rubbish!” said Hagrid. “Why should he?”

Yet Harry couldn't help thinking that Hagrid didn't quite meet his eyes when he said that. Another person that refuses to tell him the truth. He was starting to get annoyed.

“How's yer brother Charlie?” Hagrid asked Ron, “I liked him a lot… great with animals.”

Harry wondered if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While Ron told Hagrid all about Charlie's work with dragons, Harry picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy. It was a cutting from the Daily Prophet:

_GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST_

_Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown._

_Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day._

_“But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you,” said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon._

Harry remembered Ron telling him on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringotts, but Ron hadn't mentioned the date.

“Hagrid!” said Harry, “that Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might've been happening while we were there!”

There was no doubt about it, Hagrid definitely didn't meet Harry's eyes this time. He grunted and offered him another rock cake. Harry read the story again. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied earlier that same day. Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and thirteen, if you could call it emptying, taking out that grubby little package. Had that been what the thieves were looking for?

As Harry and Ron walked back to the castle for dinner, their pockets weighed down with rock cakes they'd been too polite to refuse, Harry thought that none of the lessons he'd had so far had given him as much to think about as tea with Hagrid. Had Hagrid collected that package just in time? Where was it now? And did Hagrid know something about Snape that he didn't want to tell Harry?

Now that Harry and Ron were out of earshot, Constantine turned back to Hagrid.

“Tell me what was in the vault,” Constantine said sternly.

“No,” Hagrid said, “I ain’t gonna tell ya nothin’.”

“I’m not here as a student right now mate,” Constantine said, “I’m here as a Demonologist and exorcist in training. Whatever it is, I can help.”

“You can’t help,” Hagrid said, “Besides, nothing can get to it while it’s on the 3rd floor corridor on the right hand side…”

“Thanks for putting me on the right path mate,” Constantine smiled.

“I shouldn’t have told you that,” Hagrid said as Constantine left his hut, “I shouldn’t have said that. I should not have said that.”

**Later, with Harry…**

Harry had never believed he would meet a boy he hated more than Dudley, but that was before he met Draco Malfoy. Still, first-year Gryffindors only had Potions with the Slytherins, so they didn't have to put up with Malfoy much. Or at least, they didn't until they spotted a notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room that made them all groan. Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday… and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.

“Typical,” said Harry darkly. “Just what I always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy.”

He had been looking forward to learning to fly more than anything else.

“You don't know that you'll make a fool of yourself,” said Ron reasonably. “Anyway, I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk.”

“Yeah,” Chas said, “I know for a fact that I’ll suck. Never been good on a broom. After I fell from a broom once when I was at home in America, I gained a fear of heights. I got a note to be excused from that special class. However, in order to fill up the class they had to bring someone else from another house.”

“Who?” Harry asked.

“John Constantine,” Chas said, “From what I hear, he and Malfoy don’t get along that well. Even worse than you and Malfoy.”

“Malfoy might kick his ass in flying though,” Ron said, “at least, that’s what he boasts.”

Malfoy certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first years never getting on the house Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. He wasn't the only one, though: the way Seamus Finnigan told it, he'd spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick. Even Ron would tell anyone who'd listen about the time he'd almost hit a hang glider on Charlie's old broom. Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly. Ron had already had a big argument with Dean Thomas, who shared their dormitory, about soccer. Ron couldn't see what was exciting about a game with only one ball where no one was allowed to fly. Harry had caught Ron prodding Dean's poster of West Ham soccer team, trying to make the players move.

Neville had never been on a broomstick in his life, because his grandmother had never let him near one. Privately, Harry felt she'd had good reason, because Neville managed to have an extraordinary number of accidents even with both feet on the ground.

Hermione Granger was almost as nervous about flying as Neville was. This was something you couldn't learn by heart out of a book... not that she hadn't tried. At breakfast on Thursday she bored them all stupid with flying tips she'd gotten out of a library book called Quidditch Through the Ages. Neville was hanging on to her every word, desperate for anything that might help him hang on to his broomstick later, but everybody else was very pleased when Hermione's lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the mail.

Harry hadn't had a single letter since Hagrid's note, something that Malfoy had been quick to notice, of course. Malfoy's eagle owl was always bringing him packages of sweets from home, which he opened gloatingly at the Slytherin table.

A barn owl brought Neville a small package from his grandmother. He opened it excitedly and showed them a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke.

“It's a Remembrall!” he explained. “Gran knows I forget things… this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red… oh…” His face fell, because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet, “You've forgotten something…”

Neville was trying to remember what he'd forgotten when Draco Malfoy, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his hand.

Harry and Ron jumped to their feet. They were half hoping for a reason to fight Malfoy, but Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash.

“What's going on?”

“Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor.”

Scowling, Malfoy quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table.

“Just looking,” he said, and he sloped away with Crabbe and Goyle behind him.

At three-thirty that afternoon, Harry, Ron, and the other Gryffindors with Constantine replacing Chas hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Harry had heard Fred and George Weasley complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

“Well, what are you all waiting for?” she barked. “Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.”

“Sure thing teach,” John said as he grabbed a broomstick and then laid it on a piece of paper. Harry, Ron, and Hermione already knew what he was going to do. Only Hermione seemed displeased.

“What do you think you are doing young man?” Madam Hooch demanded as she walked over to him.

“I’m not about to risk flying on this old thing,” John said, “At least not without a few assurances that it will stay in the air instead of dropping me down humiliatingly. Also, I’m going to make it look brand spanking new.”

“No you’re not,” Hooch said, “Besides, that’s impossible.”

“Not exactly Professor,” Ron spoke up.

“What do you mean?” Madam Hooch asked.

“He knows another kind of magic,” Ron said, “and I’ve seen him do it.”

“He changed trash into dust and had it go fly out of a window,” Harry put in.

“Really?” Madam Hooch asked.

“Okay then,” Madam Hooch said interested, “I’ll allow you to do it this once Mr. Constantine.”

“You might want to stand back,” Constantine warned as he got into his pose, “Might result in a bang. Also, close your eyes.”

“'Iirjae hdha alkayin 'iilaa majadiha alsahih,” Constantine said, “waistieadat quatuha.”

A second later, a bright light flashed and in the old broom’s place was a brand new one.

“I wouldn’t advise that you do this at home kids,” Constantine said as he put the piece of paper away, “Only someone raised by an exorcist himself can use muggle-magic. Also, if you don’t pronounce the words right, you could either turn yourself into a toad or explode like that dude from Big Trouble in Little China.”

“This…” Madam hooch said as she inspected the broom, “This is remarkable. I might suggest to the Headmaster that we look into such magic. Muggle-magic, right?”

“Aye,” Constantine said, “I have to caution you though. Unlike wizard magic, Muggle-magic comes at a price. Sometimes the price isn’t all that dandy. In the case of my exorcist teacher, its becoming a drunk.”

“Back to class everyone,” Madam Hooch said as she walked back to her broom.

Harry glanced down at his broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles.

“Stick out your right hand over your broom,” called Madam Hooch at the front, “and say ‘Up!’”

“UP!” everyone shouted.

Harry and John's brooms jumped into their hands at once, but they were two of the few that did. Hermione Granger's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville's hadn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you were afraid, thought Harry; there was a quaver in Neville's voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Harry, Ron, and John were delighted when she told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years.

“Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard,” said Madam Hooch, “Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle… three… two-”

But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.

“Come back, boy!” she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle… twelve feet… twenty feet. Harry saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and-

What would’ve been a thud and a nasty crack there was just a thud and Neville lay facedown on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and started to drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight. Harry looked to his left as saw John panting deeply and lower his arm.

“What did you do?” Harry asked.

“I made him impervious to damage for a few seconds,” John said, “I’ve only ever managed to make that spell work for a few seconds, but even if I did manage to make it work longer the cost would’ve been the same.”

“What’s the cost?” Harry asked concerned.

“I turn to stone for a day,” Constantine said right before he became a statue.

“Madam Hooch!” Hermione screamed when she saw what happened to John.

“What is it Miss Granger?!” Madam Hooch asked as she looked at Hermione. Then, when she saw where she was pointing she widened her eyes.

“Where’d that statue come from?” Madam Hooch asked confused, “and where’s Mr. Constantine?”

Then realization dawned on her face. She rushed over to John and waved her wand over the statue, but when nothing happened she turned to Harry.

“What happened Mr. Potter?” Madam Hooch asked.

“John used a spell to make Neville impervious from damage for a few seconds,” Harry said, “but he said that the cost is always the same.”

“What is the cost?” Madam Hooch asked.

“The caster turns to stone for a day,” Harry responded.

“Okay then,” Madam Hooch decided as she used the levitation spell on John, “None of you is to move while I take these two boys to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear.”

Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him. Even though he wasn’t damaged he believed he was so he felt the pain of the fall.

No sooner were they out of earshot than Malfoy burst into laughter.

“Did you see his face, the great lump?”

The other Slytherins joined in.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” snapped Parvati Patil.

“Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?” said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl. “Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati.”

“Or statues,” Felix Faust sneered, “That is what you get for caring about people. You become a pigeon's toilet.”

“Look!” said Malfoy changing the topic, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. “It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him.”

The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.

“Give that here, Malfoy,” said Harry quietly. Everyone stopped talking to watch.

Malfoy smiled nastily.

“I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find... how about... up a tree?”

“Give it here!” Harry yelled, but Malfoy had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off. He hadn't been lying, he could fly well. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, “Come and get it, Potter!”

Harry grabbed his broom.

“No!” shouted Hermione Granger. “Madam Hooch told us not to move… you'll get us all into trouble.”

Harry ignored her. Blood was pounding in his ears. He mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground and up, up he soared; air rushed through his hair, and his robes whipped out behind him, and in a rush of fierce joy he realized he'd found something he could do without being taught... this was easy, this was wonderful. He pulled his broomstick up a little to take it even higher, and heard screams and gasps of girls back on the ground and an admiring whoop from Ron.

He turned his broomstick sharply to face Malfoy in midair. Malfoy looked stunned.

“Give it here,” Harry called, “or I'll knock you off that broom!”

“Oh, yeah?” said Malfoy, trying to sneer, but looking worried.

Harry knew, somehow, what to do. He leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands, and it shot toward Malfay like a javelin. Malfoy only just got out of the way in time; Harry made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady. A few people below were clapping.

“No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy,” Harry called.

The same thought seemed to have struck Malfoy.

“Catch it if you can, then!” he shouted, and he threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground.

Harry saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise up in the air and then start to fall. He leaned forward and pointed his broom handle down… next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball… wind whistled in his ears, mingled with the screams of people watching… he stretched out his hand… a foot from the ground he caught it, just in time to pull his broom straight, and he toppled gently onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in his fist.

“HARRY POTTER!”

His heart sank faster than he'd just dived. Professor McGonagall was running toward them. He got to his feet, trembling.

“Never… in all my time at Hogwarts-”

Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, “-how dare you… might have broken your neck-”

“It wasn't his fault, Professor-” Parvarti tried.

“Be quiet, Miss Patil,” McGonagall ordered.

“But Malfoy-” Ron tried.

“That's enough, Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall said with finality, “Potter, follow me, now.”

Harry caught sight of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle's triumphant faces as he left, walking numbly in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode toward the castle. He was going to be expelled, he just knew it. He wanted to say something to defend himself, but there seemed to be something wrong with his voice. Professor McGonagall was sweeping along without even looking at him; he had to jog to keep up. Now he'd done it. He hadn't even lasted two weeks. He'd be packing his bags in ten minutes. What would the Dursleys say when he turned up on the doorstep?

Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside, and still Professor McGonagall didn't say a word to him. She wrenched open doors and marched along corridors with Harry trotting miserably behind her. Maybe she was taking him to Dumbledore. He thought of Hagrid, expelled but allowed to stay on as gamekeeper. Perhaps he could be Hagrid's assistant. His stomach twisted as he imagined it, watching Ron and the others becoming wizards, while he stumped around the grounds carrying Hagrid's bag.

Professor McGonagall stopped outside a classroom. She opened the door and poked her head inside.

“Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?” McGonagall asked.

 _Wood?_ thought Harry, bewildered; _was Wood a cane she was going to use on him?_

But Wood turned out to be a person, a burly fifth-year boy who came out of Flitwick’s class looking confused.

“Follow me, you two,” said Professor McGonagall, and they marched on up the corridor, Wood looking curiously at Harry.

“In here.”

Professor McGonagall pointed them into a classroom that was empty.

“Potter, this is Oliver Wood,” McGonagall said in excitement, “Wood… I've found you a Seeker.”

Wood's expression changed from puzzlement to delight.

“Are you serious, Professor?”

“Absolutely,” said Professor McGonagall crisply, “The boy's a natural. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?”

Harry nodded silently. He didn't have a clue what was going on, but he didn't seem to be getting expelled, and some of the feeling started coming back to his legs.

“He caught that thing in his hand after a fifty-foot dive,” Professor McGonagall told Wood, “Didn't even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it.”

Wood was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once.

“Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?” he asked excitedly.

“He's just the build for a Seeker, too,” said Wood, now walking around Harry and staring at him. “Light… speedy… we'll have to get him a decent broom, Professor… a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I'd say.”

“I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the first-year rule,” McGonagall said, “Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks…”

Professor McGonagall peered sternly over her glasses at Harry.

“I want to hear you're training hard, Potter,” McGonagall said sternly, “or I may change my mind about punishing you.”

Then she suddenly smiled.

“Your father would have been proud,” she said, “He was an excellent Quidditch player himself.”

 _She’s joking_ Harry thought as he asked, “What about John? He turned himself to stone to ensure that Neville didn’t break anything when he fell off of the uncontrollable broom.”

“He did what?” McGonagall asked confused. When Harry told her what happened, she said she’d see how he is. Besides, she wants to know all about this strange new magic that was brought to Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arabic to english:  
> 1\. 'iirjae hdha alkayin 'iilaa majadiha alsahih , waistieadat quatuha -> Return this object to its rightful glory, and restore its power.


	4. Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John reveals another ability, Harry, Ron, and Chas find the 3-headed dog. Anne Marie decides to help John with his investigation. Harry receives his nimbus. Harry, Ron, and Hermione become friends after surviving a troll together.

Chapter 4: Halloween

 

It was dinnertime. Harry had just finished telling Ron what had happened when he'd left the grounds with Professor McGonagall. Ron had a piece of steak and kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he'd forgotten all about it.

“Seeker?” he said, “But first years never… you must be the youngest house player-”

“In about a century. Wood told me,” said Harry, shoveling pie into his mouth. He felt particularly hungry after the excitement of the afternoon.

Ron was so amazed, so impressed, he just sat and gaped at Harry.

“I start training next week,” said Harry, “Only don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret.”

Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Harry, and hurried over.

“Well done,” said George in a low voice, “Wood told us. We're on the team too… Beaters.”

“I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch cup for sure this year,” said Fred, “We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us.”

“Anyway, we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school.”

“Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week. See you.”

Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome turned up: Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

“Having a last meal, Potter?” Malfoy sneered, “When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?”

“You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you,” said Harry coolly. There was of course nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their knuckles and scowl.

“I'd take you on anytime on my own,” said Malfoy, “Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only… no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?”

“Of course he has,” said Ron, wheeling around, “I'm his second, who's yours?”

Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.

“Crabbe,” he said, “Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked.”

When Malfoy had gone, Ron and Harry looked at each other. “What is a wizard's duel?” asked Harry, “And what do you mean, you're my second?”

“Well, a second's there to take over if you die,” said Ron casually, getting started at last on his cold pie. Catching the look on Harry's face, he added quickly, “But people only die in proper duels, you know, with real wizards. The most you and Malfoy'll be able to do is send sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough magic to do any real damage. I bet he expected you to refuse, anyway.”

“And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?”

“Throw it away and punch him on the nose,” Ron suggested.

"Excuse me."

They both looked up. It was Hermione Granger.

“Can't a person eat in peace in this place?” said Ron.

Hermione ignored him and spoke to Harry.

“I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying-”

"Bet you could," Ron muttered.

“-and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night,” Hermione continued as if Ron hadn’t spoken, “think of the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be. It's really very selfish of you.”

“And it's really none of your business,” said Harry.

“Good-bye,” said Ron.

All the same, it wasn't what you'd call the perfect end to the day, Harry thought, as he lay awake much later listening to Dean and Seamus falling asleep (Neville had returned from the Hospital Wing not too long ago.). Ron had spent all evening giving him advice such as “If he tries to curse you, you'd better dodge it, because I can't remember how to block them.” There was a very good chance they were going to get caught by Filch or Mrs. Norris, and Harry felt he was pushing his luck, breaking another school rule today. On the other hand, Malfoy's sneering face kept looming up out of the darkness… this was his big chance to beat Malfoy face-to-face. He couldn't miss it.

“Half-past eleven,” Ron muttered at last, “we'd better go.”

They pulled on their bathrobes, picked up their wands, and crept across the tower room, down the spiral staircase, and into the Gryffindor common room. A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the armchairs into hunched black shadows. They had almost reached the portrait hole when a voice spoke from the chair nearest them, “I can't believe you're going to do this, Harry.”

A lamp flickered on. It was Hermione Granger, wearing a pink bathrobe and a frown.

“You!” said Ron furiously, “Go back to bed!”

“I almost told your brother,” Hermione snapped, “Percy… he's a prefect, he'd put a stop to this.”

Harry couldn't believe anyone could be so interfering.

“Come on,” he said to Ron. He pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and climbed through the hole.

Hermione wasn't going to give up that easily. She followed Ron through the portrait hole, hissing at them like an angry goose.

“Don't you care about Gryffindor, do you only care about yourselves, I don't want Slytherin to win the house cup, and you'll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells.”

“Go away,” Ron said.

“Alright, but I warned you,” Hermione said, “you just remember what I said when you're on the train home tomorrow, you're so-”

But what they were, they didn't find out. Hermione had turned to the portrait of the Fat Lady to get back inside and found herself facing an empty painting behind a boy. The Fat Lady had gone on a nighttime visit and Hermione was locked out of Gryffindor tower.

“Now what am I going to do?” she asked shrilly not even seeing Chas.

“That's your problem,” said Ron, “We've got to go, we’re going to be late. Where you going Chas?”

“With you guys,” Chas said, “I heard Malfoy's challange. Anyway, Your wand is unreliable Ron, so I’m taking your place as Harry’s second.”

They hadn't even reached the end of the corridor when Hermione caught up with them.

“I’m coming with you,” she said.

“You are not.”

“D'you think I'm going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch me?” Hermione said, “If he finds all four of us I'll tell him the truth, that I was trying to stop you, and you can back me up.”

“You've got some nerve-” said Ron loudly.

“Shut up, both of you!” said Harry sharply, “I heard something.”

It was a sort of snuffling.

"Mrs. Norris?" breathed Ron, squinting through the dark.

It wasn't Mrs. Norris. It was a sleeping picture. They all breathed a sigh of relief, and continued their way down to the dual.

They flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn Harry expected to run into Filch or Mrs. Norris, but they were lucky. They sped up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoed toward the trophy room.

Malfoy and Crabbe weren't there yet. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates, and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness. They edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. Harry took out his wand in case Malfoy leapt in and started at once. The minutes crept by.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Chas said quietly.

“He's late, maybe he's chickened out,” Ron whispered.

Then a noise in the next room made them jump. Harry had only just raised his wand when they heard someone speak, and it wasn't Malfoy.

“Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner.”

It was Filch speaking to Mrs. Norris. Horror-struck, Harry waved madly at the other three to follow him as quickly as possible; they scurried silently toward the door, away from Filch's voice. Ron's robes had barely whipped round the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.

“They're in here somewhere,” they heard him mutter, “probably hiding.”

“This way!” the ghostly form of John Constantine that had suddenly appeared mouthed to the others and, petrified without even caring about John’s current appearance, they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armor. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Ron suddenly let out a nervous squeak and broke into a run, he tripped, grabbed Chas around the waist, and the pair of them toppled right into a suit of armor.

The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.

“RUN!” Harry yelled, and the four of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following… they swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Harry in the lead, without any idea where they were or where they were going… they ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near their Charms’ classroom, which they knew was miles from the trophy room.

“I think we've lost him,” Harry panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping his forehead. Ron was bent double, wheezing and spluttering.

“I *gasp* told *gasp*you,” Hermione gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest, “I *gasp* told *gasp* you.”

“We've got to get back to Gryffindor tower,” said Ron, “quickly as possible.”

“Malfoy tricked you,” Hermione said to Harry, “You realize that, don't you? He was never going to meet you… Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off.”

“Aye,” John’s ghost said, “I should’ve warned you about how he thinks, but there was never really the time.”

“Another thing,” Hermione said whirling on John, “Aren’t you supposed to be a statue?”

“Still am luv,” John said, “This right here is what I like to call Astral Projection. Normally, I’d look like a human, but I haven’t perfected the art yet.”

“Let's go,” Harry said preventing any further conversation. Before John could float with them he began flickering.

“Bollocks,” John said before he vanished. When he came to, he found himself in the Infirmary.

“About bloody time,” John said to himself, “Uh oh.”

He then fell forward onto the floor face first.

“Ow,” John said after a few minutes of silence. It was fairly comical.

**Back with Harry…**

It wasn't going to be that simple. They hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them.

It was Geeves, the second craziest ghost. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight.

"Shut up, Geeves… please… you'll get us thrown out."

Geeves cackled.

“Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty.”

“Not if you don't give us away, Geeves, please.”

“Should tell Filch, I should,” said Geeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly, “It's for your own good, you know.”

“Get out of the way,” snapped Ron, taking a swipe at Geeves... this was a big mistake.

“STUDENTS OUT OF BED!” Geeves bellowed, “STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!”

“Time to go,” Chas said.

Ducking under Geeves, they ran for their lives, right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a door… and it was locked.

“This is it!” Ron moaned, as they pushed helplessly at the door, “We're done for! This is the end!”

They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could toward Geeves's shouts.

“Oh, move over,” Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry's wand, tapped the lock, and whispered,”'Alohomora!”

The lock clicked and the door swung open… they piled through it, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening.

“Which way did they go, Geeves?” Filch was saying. “Quick, tell me.”

“Say ‘please.’”

“Don't mess with me, Geeves, now where did they go?”

“Shan't say nothing if you don't say please,” said Geeves in his annoying singsong voice.

“All right, please.”

“NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!” And they heard the sound of Geeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.

“He thinks this door is locked,” Harry whispered. “I think we'll be okay... get off, Ron!” For Ron had been tugging on the sleeve of Harry's bathrobe for the last minute, “What?”

Harry turned around… and saw, quite clearly, what. For a moment, he was sure he'd walked into a nightmare… this was too much, on top of everything that had happened so far.

They weren't in a room, as he had supposed. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was forbidden.

They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.

It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Harry knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.

Harry groped for the doorknob… between Filch and death, he'd take Filch.

They fell backward… Harry slammed the door shut, and they ran, they almost flew, back down the corridor. Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else, because they didn't see him anywhere, but they hardly cared… all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between them and that monster. They didn't stop running until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.

“Where on earth have you all been?” she asked, looking at their bathrobes hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces

“Britain,” Chas quipped.

“Very funny,” the Fat Lady said sarcastically.

“Never mind where we were… pig snout, pig snout,” panted Harry, and the portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the common room and collapsed, trembling, into armchairs.

It was a while before any of them said anything.

“What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?” said Ron finally, “If any dog needs exercise, that one does.”

“What dog?” asked John’s head from the fireplace startling them.

“You have floo powder?” Ron exclaimed, “where’d you get that?”

“Floo powder?” Harry asked.

“Tell you another time mate,” John said, “Now answer the question.”

“A big 3-headed dog,” Ron said.

“Wait a minute,” Hermione said, “weren’t you a statue not too long ago?”

“Aye,” John said, “I unfroze when you last saw me. That’s why my Astral form vanished.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, “Then shouldn’t-”

“Shouldn’t I still be in the Infirmary?” John said, “I snuck back to the Ravenclaw commons… oh, I hear footsteps on my end. Tell me everything tomorrow.”

Hermione had gotten both her breath and her bad temper back again, “You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?” she snapped when she remembered the thing she saw, “Didn't you see what it was standing on?”

“The floor?” Harry suggested, “I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too busy with its heads.”

“No, not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously guarding something.”

She stood up, glaring at them.

“I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed… or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed.”

Ron stared after her, his mouth open.

“No, we don't mind,” he said, “You'd think we dragged her along, wouldn't you?”

But Hermione had given Harry something else to think about as he climbed back into bed. The dog was guarding something… What had Hagrid said? Gringotts was the safest place in the world for something you wanted to hide… except perhaps Hogwarts.

It looked as though Harry had found out where the grubby little package from vault seven hundred and thirteen was.

Malfoy couldn't believe his eyes when he saw that Harry and Ron were still at Hogwarts the next day, looking tired but perfectly cheerful. Indeed, by the next morning Harry and Ron thought that meeting the three-headed dog had been an excellent adventure, and they were quite keen to have another one. In the meantime, Harry filled Ron in about the package that seemed to have been moved from Gringotts to Hogwarts, and they spent a lot of time wondering what could possibly need such heavy protection.

“It's either really valuable or really dangerous,” said Ron.

“Or both,” said Harry.

But as all they knew for sure about the mysterious object was that it was about two inches long, they didn't have much chance of guessing what it was without further clues.

Hermione didn’t show the slightest interest in what lay underneath the dog and the trapdoor.

“We need to tell John,” Chas said to the two boys.

“Why?” Hermione asked not realizing John had just arrived at their table, “So he can get you in more trouble? He’s already a bad influence for you three for Christ’s sake!!”

“And I thought we got along luv,” John said as he sat down next to Chas and Harry.

“Don’t call me ‘luv’,” Hermione said with a frown, “and we did before you inspired these idiots to go against the rules.”

“Fine then pet,” John said before he turned to Harry.

“Now tell me all about last night,” John said ignoring Hermione’s expression.

Hermione was now refusing to speak to Harry, Ron, and John, but she was such a bossy know-it-all that they saw this as an added bonus. All they really wanted now was a way of getting back at Malfoy, and to their great delight, just such a thing arrived in the mail about a week later.

As the owls flooded into the Great Hall as usual, everyone's attention was caught at once by a long, thin package carried by six large screech owls. Harry was just as interested as everyone else to see what was in this large parcel, and was amazed when the owls soared down and dropped it right in front of him, knocking his bacon to the floor. They had hardly fluttered out of the way when another owl dropped a letter on top of the parcel.

Harry ripped open the letter first, which was lucky, because it said:

DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE

It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everybody knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o'clock for your first training session.

Professor McGonagall

Harry had difficulty hiding his glee as he handed the note to Ron to read.

“A Nimbus Two Thousand!” Ron moaned enviously, “I've never even touched one.”

They left the hall quickly, wanting to unwrap the broomstick in private before their first class, but halfway across the entrance hall they found the way upstairs barred by Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy seized the package from Harry and felt it.

“That's a broomstick,” he said, throwing it back to Harry with a mixture of jealousy and spite on his face, “You'll be in for it this time, Potter, first years aren't allowed them.”

Ron couldn't resist it.

“It's not any old broomstick,” he said, “It's a Nimbus Two Thousand. What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty?” Ron grinned at Harry, “Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same league as the Nimbus.”

“What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn't afford half the handle,” Malfoy snapped back, “I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig.”

Before Ron could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at Malfoy's elbow.

“Not arguing, I hope, boys?” he squeaked.

“Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor,” said Malfoy quickly.

“Yes, yes, that's right,” said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harry, “Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?”

“A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir” said Harry, fighting not to laugh at the look of horror on Malfoy's face.

“And it's really thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it,” he added.

Harry and Ron headed upstairs, smothering their laughter at Malfoy's obvious rage and confusion. “Well, it's true,” Harry chortled as they reached the top of the marble staircase, “If he hadn't stolen Neville's Remembrall I wouldn't be on the team…”

“I’d say congrats,” John said as he walked up to them, “but then Hermione would hate me even more. Ah, speak of the devil.”

“So I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking rules?” came an angry voice from just behind them. Hermione was stomping up the stairs, looking disapprovingly at the package in Harry's hand.

“I thought you weren't speaking to us?” said Harry.

“Yes, don't stop now,” said Ron, “it's doing us so much good.”

Hermione marched away with her nose in the air.

Harry had a lot of trouble keeping his mind on his lessons that day. It kept wandering up to the dormitory where his new broomstick was lying under his bed, or straying off to the Quidditch field where he'd be learning to play that night. He bolted his dinner that evening without noticing what he was eating, and then rushed upstairs with Ron to unwrap the Nimbus Two Thousand at last.

“Wow,” Ron sighed, as the broomstick rolled onto Harry's bedspread.

Even Harry, who knew nothing about the different brooms, thought it looked wonderful. Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long tail of neat, straight twigs and Nimbus Two Thousand written in gold near the top.

As seven o'clock drew nearer, Harry left the castle and set off in the dusk toward the Quidditch field. Held never been inside the stadium before. Hundreds of seats were raised in stands around the field so that the spectators were high enough to see what was going on. At either end of the field were three golden poles with hoops on the end. They reminded Harry of the little plastic sticks Muggle children blew bubbles through, except that they were fifty feet high.

**Meanwhile, with Constantine…**

John Constantine walked into the 3rd floor corridor on the right hand side and looked around to make sure that the coast was clear. When he saw that it was, he walked towards the door Harry described and opened it a little. He saw that the 3-headed dog was awake, and thankfully didn’t see him. He looked down towards their paws and saw the trapdoor. There was no way he was going to be able to get to it tonight, but he made a mental note to do so eventually.

He quickly shut the door and hurried away, but as soon as he got to the stairs he literally bumped into her. Anne Marie. Fortunately, neither of them toppled onto the floor due to the impact.

“I just knew you were coming here,” Anne said as she crossed her arms, “What do you think you’re doing here John?”

“Does it really matter?” John said, “especially, since you’ll be in as much trouble if you go tell the professors.”

“If you tell me exactly what you were up to,” Anne said, “I might keep quiet.”

“I’m investigating,” John replied as he walked down the stairs passed her, “Something doesn’t feel right on this floor. All I know is that the teachers are trying to protect something, and I suspect that whatever they did won’t be enough.”

“They’re far more experienced than we are in magic,” Anne said as she looked at him.

“And maybe that’s why whatever they’re protecting isn’t actually safe,” John said as he turned back to Anne.

“Alright,” Anne said, “You’ve convinced me. I’ll join you on your investigation.”

“Suit yourself,” John said as he continued his path down the stairs, “but there’s a high chance of it being extremely bloody dangerous.”

**The next morning…**

On Halloween morning they woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors. Even better, Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly, something they had all been dying to try since they'd seen him make Neville's toad zoom around the classroom. Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practice. Harry's partner was Seamus Finnigan (which was a relief, because Neville had been trying to catch his eye). Ron, however, was to be working with Hermione Granger. It was hard to tell whether Ron or Hermione was angrier about this. She hadn't spoken to either of them since the day Harry's broomstick had arrived.

“Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!” squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. “Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too… never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest.”

It was very difficult. Harry and Seamus swished and flicked, but the feather they were supposed to be sending skyward just lay on the desktop. Seamus got so impatient that he prodded it with his wand and set fire to it... Harry had to put it out with his hat.

Ron, at the next table, wasn't having much more luck.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” he shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.

“You're saying it wrong,” Harry heard Hermione snap, “It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long.”

“You do it, then, if you're so clever,” Ron snarled.

However, before she could they saw a different feather go flying into the air. It was John and Chas’ feather.

“See,” Hermione said, “That is the desired effect.”

“Quite right young Miss Granger,” Flitwick said in agreement, “Now do you have the same amount of raw talent as Mr. Constantine over there?”

Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand, and said, “Wingardium Leviosa!”

Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

“Oh, well done!” cried Professor Flitwick, clapping, “Everyone see here, both Miss Granger and Mr. Constantine have done it!”

Ron was in a very bad mood by the end of the class.

“It's no wonder no one can stand her,” he said to Harry as they pushed their way into the crowded corridor, “she's a nightmare, honestly.”

“She ain’t that bad,” John said, “It’s not her fault that she was raised to believe in the rules as well as follow them.”

“I don’t have a problem with that exactly,” Ron explained, “It’s just that she’s such a know-it-all. It’s absolutely annoying.”

Someone knocked into Harry as they hurried past him. It was Hermione. Harry caught a glimpse of her face… and was startled to see that she was in tears.

“I think she heard you.”

“So?” said Ron, but he looked a bit uncomfortable, “She must've noticed she's got no friends.”

“I think you just hurt her even further, mate,” John said with a frown, “See you later. I have to head to my next class.”

Hermione didn't turn up for the next class and wasn't seen all afternoon. On their way down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, Harry and Ron overheard Parvati Patil telling her friend Lavender that Hermione was crying in the girls' bathroom and wanted to be left alone. Ron looked still more awkward at this, but a moment later they had entered the Great Hall, where the Halloween decorations put Hermione out of their minds.

A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet.

Harry was just helping himself to a baked potato when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table, and gasped, “Troll... in the dungeons... thought you ought to know.”

He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

There was an uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence.

“Prefects,” he rumbled, “lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!”

Robert was in his element.

“Follow me! Stick together, first years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders! Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first years coming through! Excuse me, I'm a prefect!”

Unknown to everyone else except for Anne Marie, Snape and snuck away and John followed suit. Snape knew what Quirrell was up to while John merely didn’t trust Quirrell.

“Be careful John,” Anne Marie said quietly as she walked back to the Ravenclaw dormitory with the other Ravenclaws.

**Meanwhile, with John…**

John slowly followed Snape throughout the school. He followed Snape all the way to the 3rd floor corridor and saw him enter the room with the 3-dogs. Suddenly, loud snarling and barking could be heard with Snape quickly exiting the room and straining to close the door as the 3-headed dog pushed back. Even though, there was a chance of John getting in trouble he rushed in to help. Together, he and Snape managed to shut the door. It was at that point that Snape saw him.

“Students are forbidden from coming up here Constantine,” Snape sneered, “I should have you expelled.”

“Maybe,” John admitted, “But right now you need an ally, and as much as we dislike each other… we need people we can trust.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Snape lied.

“You suspected Quirrell of coming to steal whatever it is you’re guarding,” John guessed.

“How about you run along back to your common room and play with your dolls,” Snape sneered, “That is the only place your imagination should be.”

“I’m not here as a student or wizard,” John said sternly, “I’m here as a demonologist and exorcist. Also, I followed you cause I too don’t trust Quirrell. Everything about him is a lie.”

“You’re still a kid,” Snape said with less of a sneer, “It’s too much of a risk. Let the adults handle this.”

“You won’t be able to handle much with that limp of yours,” John stated, “Face it. You need my help.”

“Go to your common room and forget about this,” Snape warned, “This isn’t your problem. I won’t even tell anyone about you going against the rules by coming here, if you do as you’re told right now.”

**With Harry…**

“Oy, pea-brain!” yelled Ron from the other side of the chamber, and he threw a metal pipe at the troll. The troll didn't even seem to notice the pipe hitting its shoulder, but it heard the yell and paused again, turning its ugly snout toward Ron instead, giving Harry time to run around it.

“Come on, run, run!” Harry yelled at Hermione, trying to pull her toward the door, but she couldn't move, she was still flat against the wall, her mouth open with terror.

The shouting and the echoes seemed to be driving the troll berserk. It roared again and started toward Ron, who was nearest and had no way to escape.

Harry then did something that was both very brave and very stupid: He took a great running jump and managed to fasten his arms around the troll's neck from behind. The troll couldn't feel Harry hanging there, but even a troll will notice if you stick a long bit of wood up its nose, and Harry's wand had still been in his hand when he'd jumped… it had gone straight up one of the troll's nostrils.

Howling with pain, the troll twisted and flailed its club, with Harry clinging on for dear life; any second, the troll was going to rip him off or catch him a terrible blow with the club.

Hermione had sunk to the floor in fright; Ron pulled out his own wand... not knowing what he was going to do he heard himself cry the first spell that came into his head, “Wingardium Leviosa!”

The club flew suddenly out of the troll's hand, rose high, high up into the air, turned slowly over… and dropped, with a sickening crack, onto its owner's head. The troll swayed on the spot and then fell flat on its face, with a thud that made the whole room tremble.

Harry got to his feet. He was shaking and out of breath. Ron was standing there with his wand still raised, staring at what he had done. It was Hermione who spoke first.

“Is it… dead?”

“I don't think so,” said Harry, “I think it's just been knocked out.”

He bent down and pulled his wand out of the troll's nose. It was covered in what looked like lumpy gray glue.

“Urgh… troll boogers.”

He wiped it on the troll's trousers.

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the three of them look up. They hadn't realized what a racket they had been making, but of course, someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll's roars. A moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room, closely followed by Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

Snape bent over the troll. Professor McGonagall was looking at Ron and Harry. Harry had never seen her look so angry. Her lips were white. Hopes of winning fifty points for Gryffindor faded quickly from Harry's mind.

“What on earth were you thinking of?” said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. Harry looked at Ron, who was still standing with his wand in the air. “You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?”

Snape gave Harry a swift, piercing look. Harry looked at the floor. He wished Ron would put his wand down.

Then a small voice came out of the shadows.

“Please, Professor McGonagall… they were looking for me.”

“Miss Granger!”

Hermione had managed to get to her feet at last.

“I went looking for the troll because I… I thought I could deal with it on my own… you know, because I've read all about them.”

Ron dropped his wand. Hermione Granger, telling a downright lie to a teacher? “If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived.”

Harry and Ron tried to look as though this story wasn't new to them.

“Well… in that case…” said Professor McGonagall, staring at the three of them, “Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?”

Hermione hung her head. Harry was speechless. Hermione was the last person to do anything against the rules, and here she was, pretending she had, to get them out of trouble. It was as if Snape had started handing out sweets.

“Bloody hell,” said Constantine from behind the teachers, “I’m too late.”

“Mr. Constantine!” McGonagall said not nearly as shocked as she was with Hermione, “What are you doing here?”

“I heard that Hermione was in the bathroom crying all day,” John said honestly before he added a lie, “Wasn’t able to get the free time to come down here and see if she was alright, but when i heard a Troll was on the loose… let’s just say that I knew I couldn’t wait any longer. I actually encountered one during my days on the streets… happened to be a nice troll. Well, as nice a troll can be. Anyway, I headed down here and saw the two Gryffindor boys about to do something stupid. I knew I wouldn’t stand a chance against a troll… even a kid… so I was about to release my own personal poltergeist at the troll in order to distract it.”

“You have your own personal poltergeist?” McGonagall asked before realization struck her, “You somehow captured Peeves!”

“Yep,” Constantine said as he pulled out the vial which gained Quirrell’s attention. For a second he had an evil glint in his eyes.

“I’m going to have to ask that you release it,” McGonagall said, “No matter how much I’d prefer that it’d stay locked up.”

“I have every intention too,” John said honestly, “once it reforms, and becomes a protector instead of an Anarchist.”

“Not a bad idea,” McGonagall said, “However, till Peeves has been reformed I request that you hand that vial over to me.”

“Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this,” said Professor McGonagall, “I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their houses. All that applies to you as well Constantine, though for your ingenuity and your selfless act I’ll have to grant you five points.”

Hermione and John left together.

Professor McGonagall turned to Harry and Ron.

“Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. Much less a young troll. You each win Gryffindor five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go.”

They hurried out of the chamber and didn't speak at all until they had climbed two floors up. It was a relief to be away from the smell of the troll, quite apart from anything else.

“We should have gotten more than ten points,” Ron grumbled.

“Five, you mean, once she's taken off Hermione's.”

“Good of her to get us out of trouble like that,” Ron admitted, “Mind you, we did save her.”

“She might not have needed saving if we hadn't locked the thing in with her,” Harry reminded him.

They had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

**With John…**

John had just entered the common room, and since it was so noisy and packed nobody noticed. Except for Anne Marie, Ritchie, and the asian girl. The former heading his way.

“What exactly were you doing?” Anne asked when she got to him.

“Seeing what Quirrell was up to,” John replied, “but I think Quirrell was scared off the moment Snape and I headed towards you-know-where.”

After that small update, they had their food and then went their separate ways for the night.


	5. Quidditch

Chapter 5: Quidditch

 

As they entered November, the weather turned very cold. The mountains around the school became icy gray and the lake like chilled steel. Every morning the ground was covered in frost. Hagrid could be seen from the upstairs windows defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch field, bundled up in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit fur gloves, and enormous beaver skin boots.

The Quidditch season had begun. On Saturday, Harry would be playing in his first match after weeks of training: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, they would move up into second place in the house championship.

Hardly anyone had seen Harry play because Wood had decided that, as their secret weapon, Harry should be kept, well, secret. But the news that he was playing Seeker had leaked out somehow, and Harry didn't know which was worse… people telling him he'd be brilliant or people telling him they'd be running around underneath him holding a mattress.

It was really lucky that Harry now had Hermlone as a friend. He didn't know how he'd have gotten through all his homework without her, what with all the last-minute Quidditch practice Wood was making them do. She had also lent him Quidditch Through the Ages, which turned out to be a very interesting read. Constantine, on the other hand wasn’t any help. Constantine kept his grades high, but anything other than class was solely reserved for the mystery of the 3rd floor corridor. Constantine was certain that Quirrell was involved in a way that wasn’t for the benefit of the school or the world. Harry didn’t share that belief, as every time he’d seen Quirrell, the professor was kind to him and always stuttered. Quirrell just didn’t seem like an evil mastermind.

Harry learned that there were seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul and that all of them had happened during a World Cup match in 1473; that Seekers were usually the smallest and fastest players, and that most serious Quidditch accidents seemed to happen to them; that although people rarely died playing Quidditch, referees had been known to vanish and turn up months later in the Sahara Desert.

Hermione had become a bit more relaxed about breaking rules since Harry and Ron had saved her from the mountain troll, and she was much nicer for it. The day before Harry's first Quidditch match the three of them were out in the freezing courtyard during break, and she had conjured them up a bright blue fire that could be carried around in a jam jar. They were standing with their backs to it, getting warm, when Snape crossed the yard. Harry noticed at once that Snape was limping. Harry, Ron, and Hermione moved closer together to block the fire from view; they were sure it wouldn't be allowed. Unfortunately, something about their guilty faces caught Snape's eye. He limped over. He hadn't seen the fire, but he seemed to be looking for a reason to tell them off anyway.

“What's that you've got there, Potter?”

It was Quidditch Through the Ages. Harry showed him.

“Library books are not to be taken outside the school,” said Snape, “Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor.”

“He's just made that rule up,” Harry muttered angrily as Snape limped away, “Wonder what's wrong with his leg?”

“He visited the 3-headed dog on Halloween,” John said from behind them making them jump, “Here’s your book by the way.”

“I thought he hated you,” Ron said with suspicion, “Why’d he give you Harry’s book?”

“He and I came to a sort of understanding,” John said cryptically.

“Wait,” Hermione said, “What was he doing at the room with the you-know-what?”

“Heading off Quirrell,” John said honestly.

“Oh come on,” Harry scoffed, “Professor Quirrell is nothing but nice. A bit odd, granted, but not evil. It’s Snape that we should be worried about.”

“100 galleons on me being right,” Constantine said with a grin, “bet doesn’t end till the end of the year.”

“Its on,” Harry said equally grinning.

“Really?” Hermione said, “gambling over who’s right, and who isn’t?”

“Well,” Ron said interrupting, “I hope that limp of Snape’s is really hurting him.”

The Gryffindor common room was very noisy that evening. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat together next to a window. Hermione was checking Harry and Ron's Charms homework for them. She would never let them copy ("How will you learn?"), but by asking her to read it through, they got the right answers anyway. Constantine had been spending the evenings when there was no class in the Library till he had to go back to his common room. He was studying both for his class and anything that could help him get passed the 3-headed dog and find out what its guarding.

Harry felt restless. He couldn’t get his mind off of what Constantine said before and after he got his book back. Why is Constantine adamant in believing that Quirrell was up to no good? Getting up, he told Ron and Hermione he was going to ask Quirrell if Constantine was right.

"Better you than me," they said together, but Harry wasn’t afraid of being accused for falsely accusing a teacher of something. Especially, since he believed that Constantine was wrong.

He made his way down to the staff room and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again. Nothing.

Perhaps Quirrell was taking a tonic to reduce his stuttering? It was worth a try. He pushed the door ajar and peered inside… and a horrible scene met his eyes.

Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Snape was holding his robes above his knees. One of his legs was bloody and mangled. Filch was handing Snape bandages.

“Blasted thing,” Snape was saying, “How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?”

Harry tried to shut the door quietly, but…

“POTTER!”

Snape's face was twisted with fury as he dropped his robes quickly to hide his leg. Harry gulped.

“I was just looking for Professor Quirrell,” Harry tried to explain.

“GET OUT! OUT!”

Harry left, before Snape could take any more points from Gryffindor. He sprinted back upstairs.

“Constantine is wrong, right?” Ron asked as Harry joined them, “What's the matter?”

In a low whisper, Harry told them what he'd seen.

“You know what this means?” he finished breathlessly. "Constantine was right about Snape! That's where he was going when we saw him… he's after whatever it's guarding! And I’d bet my broomstick he let that troll in, to make a diversion!”

Hermione's eyes were wide.

“No… he wouldn't,” she said, “I know he's not very nice, but he wouldn't try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe.”

“Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints or something,” snapped Ron, “I'm with Harry. I wouldn't put anything past Snape. But what's he after? What's that dog guarding?”

Harry went to bed with his head buzzing with the same question. Neville was snoring loudly, but Harry couldn't sleep. He tried to empty his mind… he needed to sleep, he had to, he had his first Quidditch match in a few hours… but the expression on Snape's face when Harry had seen his leg wasn't easy to forget.

The next morning dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheerful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match.

“You've got to eat some breakfast.”

“I don't want anything.”

“Just a bit of toast,” wheedled Hermione.

“I'm not hungry.”

Harry felt terrible. In an hour's time he'd be walking onto the field.

“Harry, you need your strength,” said Seamus Finnigan, “Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team.”

“Thanks, Seamus,” said Harry, watching Seamus pile ketchup on his sausages.

He then felt someone plop on the seat next to him, and when he looked at who it was he saw John Constantine. Constantine had dark shadows under his eyes and looked like he was about to fall over.

“Up all night John?” Hermione asked. John was quiet for a few minutes as his tired brain slowly caught up.

“I uh,” Constantine said slowly as it was hard to think, “I was researching…”

“Researching what?” Hermione asked. Again they had to wait for a response.

“Hmm,” Constantine said, “What? Did you say something?”

“I think he needs some sleep before we get any useful answers,” Ron said. That was when Constantine face planted his face onto the table and fell asleep.

“I’ll tell one of the Professors,” Hermione said as she got up, “See you later Harry, and Ron...”

“Yeh,” Ron replied.

“Get him to eat something,” Hermione said, “even if you have to force it down his throat.”

“Will do,” Ron said.

“You do know that I can hear you as I’m right next to you, right?” Harry asked with narrowed eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ron said as he pointed his wand at Harry, “Now eat.”

By eleven o'clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars. The seats might be raised high in the air, but it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes.

Ron and Hermione joined Chas, Neville, Seamus, and Dean the West Ham fan up in the top row. As a surprise for Harry, they had painted a large banner on one of the sheets Scabbers had ruined. It said Potter for President, and Dean, who was good at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Then Hermione had performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colors.

“I didn’t see John walk up into the Ravenclaw portion of the stands,” Chas said in concern.

“He’s in the hospital wing,” Hermione told him as she kept her eyes on the field, “He stayed up way too much the past few nights, I suspect.”

Meanwhile, in the locker room, Harry and the rest of the team were changing into their scarlet Quidditch robes (Slytherin would be playing in green).

Wood cleared his throat for silence.

“Okay, men,” he said.

“And women,” said Chaser Angelina Johnson.

“And women,” Wood agreed, “This is it.”

“The big one,” said Fred Weasley.

“The one we've all been waiting for,” said George.

“We know Oliver's speech by heart,” Fred told Harry, “we were on the team last year.”

“Shut up, you two,” said Wood, “This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it.”

He glared at them all as if to say, “Or else.”

“Right. It's time. Good luck, all of you.”

Harry followed Fred and George out of the locker room and, hoping his knees weren't going to give way, walked onto the field to loud cheers.

Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the field waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.

“Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you,” she said, once they were all gathered around her. Harry noticed that she seemed to be speaking particularly to the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, a sixth year. Harry thought Flint looked as if he had some troll blood in him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the fluttering banner high above, flashing Potter for President over the crowd. His heart skipped. He felt braver.

“Mount your brooms, please.”

Harry clambered onto his Nimbus Two Thousand.

Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.

Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off. "And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor… what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too-"

“JORDAN!”

“Sorry, Professor.”

The Weasley twins' friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall.

“And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve -- back to Johnson and -- no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes… Flint flying like an eagle up there… he's going to sc- no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle… that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and… OUCH -- that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger… Quaffle taken by the Slytherins… that's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger…. sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which… nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes… she's really flying… dodges a speeding Bludger… the goal posts are ahead… come on, now, Angelina… Keeper Bletchley dives… misses… GRYFFINDORS SCORE!”

Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins.

“Budge up there, move along.”

“Hagrid!”

Ron and Hermione squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join them.

“Bin watchin' from me hut,” said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars around his neck, “But it isn't the same as bein' in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?”

“Nope," said Ron, "Harry hasn't had much to do yet.”

“Kept outta trouble, though, that's somethin',” said Hagrid, raising his binoculars and peering skyward at the speck that was Harry.

Way up above them, Harry was gliding over the game, squinting about for some sign of the Snitch. This was part of his and Wood's game plan.

“Keep out of the way until you catch sight of the Snitch,” Wood had said, “We don't want you attacked before you have to be.”

When Angelina had scored, Harry had done a couple of loop-the-loops to let off his feelings. Now he was back to staring around for the Snitch. Once he caught sight of a flash of gold, but it was just a reflection from one of the Weasleys' wristwatches, and once a Bludger decided to come pelting his way, more like a cannonball than anything, but Harry dodged it and Fred Weasley came chasing after it.

“All right there, Harry?” he had time to yell, as he beat the Bludger furiously toward Marcus Flint.

“Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying, “Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the… wait a moment… was that the Snitch?”

A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.

Harry saw it. In a great rush of excitement he dived downward after the streak of gold. Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs had seen it, too. Neck and neck they hurtled toward the Snitch, and all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to watch.

Harry was faster than Higgs… he could see the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting up ahead… he put on an extra spurt of speed-

WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindors below… Marcus Flint had blocked Harry on purpose, and Harry's broom spun off course, Harry holding on for dear life.

“Foul!” screamed the Gryffindors.

Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goal posts for Gryffindor. But in all the confusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again.

Down in the stands, Dean Thomas was yelling, “Send him off, ref! Red card!”

“What are you talking about, Dean?” asked Ron.

“Red card!” explained Dean furiously, “In soccer you get shown the red card and you're out of the game!”

“But this isn't soccer, Dean,” Ron reminded him.

Hagrid, however, was on Dean's side.

“They oughta change the rules. Flint coulda knocked Harry outta the air.”

Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides.

“So… after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating-”

“Jordan!” growled Professor McGonagall.

“I mean, after that open and revolting foul-”

“Jordan, I'm warning you…”

“Alright, alright. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinner, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession.”

It was as Harry dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously past his head, that it happened. His broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. For a split second, he thought he was going to fall. He gripped the broom tightly with both his hands and knees. He'd never felt anything like that.

It happened again. It was as though the broom was trying to buck him off. But Nimbus Two Thousands did not suddenly decide to buck their riders off. Harry tried to turn back toward the Gryffindor goal-posts... he had half a mind to ask Wood to call time-out… and then he realized that his broom was completely out of his control. He couldn't turn it. He couldn't direct it at all. It was zigzagging through the air, and every now and then making violent swishing movements that almost unseated him.

Lee was still commentating

“Slytherin in possession… Flint with the Quaffle… passes Spinnet… passes Bell… hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose… only joking, Professor… Slytherins score… A no…

The Slytherins were cheering. No one seemed to have noticed that Harry's broom was behaving strangely. It was carrying him slowly higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went

“Dunno what Harry thinks he's doing,” Hagrid mumbled. He stared through his binoculars, “If I didn' know better, I'd say he'd lost control of his broom... but he can't have…”

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. His broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to hold on. Then the whole crowd gasped. Harry's broom had given a wild jerk and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.

“Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?” Seamus whispered.

“Can't have,” Hagrid said, his voice shaking, “Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic… no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand.”

At these words, Hermione seized Hagrid's binoculars, but instead of looking up at Harry, she started looking frantically at the crowd.

“What are you doing?” moaned Ron, gray-faced.

“I knew it,” Hermione gasped, “Snape… look.”

Ron grabbed the binoculars. Snape was in the middle of the stands opposite them. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and was muttering nonstop under his breath.

“He's doing something… jinxing the broom,” said Hermione.

“What should we do?”

“Leave it to me.”

Before Ron could say another word, Hermione had disappeared. Ron turned the binoculars back on Harry. His broom was vibrating so hard, it was almost impossible for him to hang on much longer. The whole crowd was on its feet, watching, terrified, as the Weasleys flew up to try and pull Harry safely onto one of their brooms, but it was no good… every time they got near him, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and circled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell. Marcus Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.

“Come on, Hermione,” Ron muttered desperately.

Hermione had fought her way across to the stand where Snape stood, and was now racing along the row behind him; she didn't even stop to say sorry as she knocked Professor Quirrell headfirst into the row in front. Reaching Snape, she crouched down, pulled out her wand, and whispered a few, well chosen words. Bright blue flames shot from her wand onto the hem of Snape's robes.

It took perhaps thirty seconds for Snape to realize that he was on fire. A sudden yelp told her she had done her job. Scooping the fire off him into a little jar in her pocket, she scrambled back along the row… Snape would never know what had happened.

It was enough. Up in the air, Harry was suddenly able to clamber back on to his broom.

“Neville, you can look!” Ron said. Neville had been sobbing into Hagrid's jacket for the last five minutes.

Harry was speeding toward the ground when the crowd saw him clap his hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick… he hit the field on all fours… coughed…  and something gold fell into his hand.

“I've got the Snitch!” he shouted, waving it above his head, and the game ended in complete confusion.

“He didn't catch it, he nearly swallowed it,” Flint was still howling twenty minutes later, but it made no difference… Harry hadn't broken any rules and Lee Jordan was still happily shouting the results… Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty. Harry heard none of this, though. He was being made a cup of strong tea back in Hagrid's hut, with Ron and Hermione.

“It was Snape,” Ron was explaining, “Hermione and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you.”

“Rubbish,” said Hagrid, who hadn't heard a word of what had gone on next to him in the stands, ”Why would Snape do somethin' like that?”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at one another, wondering what to tell him. Harry decided on the truth.

“John found out something about him,” he told Hagrid. "He saw Snape try to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it's guarding.”

Hagrid dropped the teapot.

“How do you know about Fluffy?” he asked.

“Fluffy?”

“Yeah… he's mine… bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year… I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the-”

“Yes?” said Harry eagerly.

“Now, don't ask me anymore,” said Hagrid gruffly, “That's top secret, that is.”

“But Snape's trying to steal it.”

“Rubbish,” said Hagrid again, “Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort.”

“So why did he just try and kill Harry?” cried Hermione.

The afternoon's events certainly seemed to have changed her mind about Snape.

“I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I've read all about them!” Hermione pressed, “You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!”

“I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!” said Hagrid hotly, “I don' know why Harry's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn' try an' kill a student! Now, listen to me, all three of yeh… yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel-”

“Aha!” said Harry knowing they were sort of victorious, “so there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?”

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Hagrid furiously mumbled to himself, “I should not have said that.”

“We are NOT going to tell John about this,” Harry said to Hermione and Ron, “agreed?”

“Agreed,” Ron said immediately.

“Why not?” Hermione asked, “He is just as invested in this as we are. Maybe even more. Especially, since he’s been working it day and night.”

“Its simple,” Harry said bluntly, “He is obsessed with believing Quirrell is the evil teacher. We would end up clashing.”

**A few months later…**

Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. The few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver mail had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly off again.

No one could wait for the holidays to start. While the Gryffindor common room and the Great Hall had roaring fires, the drafty corridors had become icy and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms. Worst of all were Professor Snape's classes down in the dungeons, where their breath rose in a mist before them and they kept as close as possible to their hot cauldrons.

“I do feel so sorry,” said Draco Malfoy, one Potions class, “for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not wanted at home.”

He was looking over at Harry and John as he spoke. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled. Harry, who was measuring out powdered spine of lionfish, ignored them. Malfoy had been even more unpleasant than usual since the Quidditch match. Disgusted that the Slytherins had lost, he had tried to get everyone laughing at how a wide-mouthed tree frog would be replacing Harry as Seeker next. Then he'd realized that nobody found this funny, because they were all so impressed at the way Harry had managed to stay on his bucking broomstick. So Malfoy, jealous and angry, had gone back to taunting Harry about having no proper family.

“Shut your gob,” John said in irritation at Malfoy, “Harry and I aren’t going home because we don’t want to. We prefer it here. Now, unless you’d like to spend the rest of the year with your feet and hands switching and without a tongue, I’d advise you to keep quiet.”

While Harry didn’t approve of John’s obsession with believing that Quirrell was evil, he did appreciate John’s friendship. Also, it helps that they were allies when it comes to Malfoy. They both hated the serpent.

It was true that Harry wasn't going back to Privet Drive for Christmas. Professor McGonagall had come around the week before, making a list of students who would be staying for the holidays, and Harry had signed up at once. He didn't feel sorry for himself at all; this would probably be the best Christmas he'd ever had. Ron and his brothers were staying, too, because Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were going to Romania to visit Charlie.

When they left the dungeons at the end of Potions, they found a large fir tree blocking the corridor ahead. Two enormous feet sticking out at the bottom and a loud puffing sound told them that Hagrid was behind it.

“Hi, Hagrid, want any help?” Ron asked, sticking his head through the branches.

“Nah, I'm alright, thanks, Ron.”

“Would you mind moving out of the way?” came Malfoys cold drawl from behind them, “Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose… that hut of Hagrid's must seem like a palace compared to what your family's used to.”

Ron dived at Malfoy, but John managed to pull him back just as Snape came up the stairs. However, Snape saw that John was evidently straining to keep Ron from attacking Draco.

“What is going on here?” Snape asked with his usual sneer.

“Professor Snape,” said Hagrid, sticking his huge hairy face out from behind the tree, “Malfoy was insultin' his family.”

“Is this true, Draco?” Snape asked.

“No,” Draco said cockily, “That big oaf is lying.”

“Then move along Draco,” Snape said as he looked back at Potter and the others, “You as well…”

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle pushed roughly past the tree, scattering needles everywhere and smirking.

“Potter,” Snape practically spat.

“Draco was the one that was lying,” Ron objected as Snape walked off.

“Is it really a surprise that he’d believe Draco?” John asked, “He does favor Slytherin House after all.”

“Bloody git,” Hagrid swore in irritation.

“I'll get him,” said Ron, grinding his teeth at Malfoy's back, “one of these days, I'll get him…”

“I hate them both,” said Harry, “Malfoy and Snape.”

Even though John believed Snape to be innocent of trying to steal whatever was being protected by the 3-headed dog, he too hated Snape. That is why he didn’t even counter Harry this time.

“Come on, cheer up, it's nearly Christmas,” said Hagrid, “Tell yeh what, come with me an' see the Great Hall, looks a treat.”

So the four of them followed Hagrid and his tree off to the Great Hall, where Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with the Christmas decorations.

“Ah, Hagrid, the last tree… put it in the far corner, would you?”

The hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls, and no less than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.

“Not all that big into Christmas,” John admitted, “but I do have to say that the Great Hall is looking very… shiny.”

“Agreed,” Harry nodded. He too never had great Christmases.

“How many days you got left until yer holidays?” Hagrid asked.

“Just one,” said Hermione, “And that reminds me. Harry, Ron, we've got half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library.”

“Oh yeah, you're right,” said Ron, tearing his eyes away from Professor Flitwick, who had golden bubbles blossoming out of his wand and was trailing them over the branches of the new tree.

“The library?” said Hagrid, following them out of the hall, “Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren't yeh?”

“Oh, we're not working,” Harry told him brightly, “Ever since you mentioned Nicolas Flamel we've been trying to find out who he is.”

“You what?” Hagrid looked shocked, “Listen here… I've told yeh… drop it. It's nothin' to you what that dog's guardin'.”

“We just want to know who Nicolas Flamel is, that's all,” said Hermione innocently.

“Unless you'd like to tell us and save us the trouble?” Harry added, “We must've been through hundreds of books already and we can't find him anywhere… just give us a hint… I know I've read his name somewhere.”

“I'm sayin' nothin,” said Hagrid flatly.

“Just have to find out for ourselves, then,” said Ron, and they left Hagrid looking disgruntled and hurried off to the library.

“You have been lying to me this past month or so,” John said stopping them in their tracks, “Why didn’t you tell me you found out about a person called Nicolas Flamel?”

“Why?” Harry asked as he turned to John, “You have done nothing but suspect Quirrell when Snape is the real villain here.”

“You’re too close to this mate,” John said as he stepped forward, “You can’t see past the hate you have for Snape. That’s the only reason you have him as your primary suspect.”

“Snape tried to kill Harry!” Ron said loudly, “so how can you think he’s the good guy in all this?”

“He tried to kill you?” John asked shocked.

“Yes,” Harry said with narrowed eyes as he looked at John.

“Well,” John said slowly, “I guess he should definitely be investigated, and with that being the case… mind allowing me back on the team, so to speak?”

Harry, Hermione, and Ron looked at each other once before Harry nodded. With that, they continued their way to the library with John right behind him.

They had indeed been searching books for Flamel's name ever since Hagrid had let it slip, because how else were they going to find out what Snape was trying to steal? The trouble was, it was very hard to know where to begin, not knowing what Flamel might have done to get himself into a book. He wasn't in Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, or Notable Magical Names of Our Time; he was missing, too, from Important Modern Magical Discoveries, and A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry. And then, of course, there was the sheer size of the library; tens of thousands of books; thousands of shelves; hundreds of narrow rows.

Hermione took out a list of subjects and titles she had decided to search while Ron strode off down a row of books and started pulling them off the shelves at random. Harry wandered over to the Restricted Section. He had been wondering for a while if Flamel wasn't somewhere in there. Unfortunately, you needed a specially signed note from one of the teachers to look in any of the restricted books, and he knew he'd never get one. These were the books containing powerful Dark Magic never taught at Hogwarts, and only read by older students studying advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts. John had already been through everywhere, including the Restricted Section thanks to one of his muggle-magic spells, and he hadn’t found anything concerning Nicolas Flamel. He does have a fairly good memory, especially about old wizards that manage to find the secret of immortality. So, he just sat around fake reading a magazine that was on a table as he kept an eye out for people that they shouldn’t let know about what they were up to.

“What are you looking for, boy?”

"Nothing," said Harry.

Madam Pince the librarian brandished a feather duster at him.

“You'd better get out, then. Go on… out!”

Wishing he'd been a bit quicker at thinking up some story, Harry left the library. He, Ron, and Hermione had already agreed they'd better not ask Madam Pince where they could find Flamel. They were sure she'd be able to tell them, but they couldn't risk Snape hearing what they were up to.

Harry waited outside in the corridor to see if the other two had found anything, but he wasn't very hopeful. They had been looking for two weeks, after A, but as they only had odd moments between lessons it wasn't surprising they'd found nothing. What they really needed was a nice long search without Madam Pince breathing down their necks.

Five minutes later, Ron, Hermione, and John joined him, shaking their heads. They went off to lunch.

“You will keep looking while I'm away, won't you?” said Hermione, “And send me an owl if you find anything.”

“And you could ask your parents if they know who Flamel is,” said Ron, “It'd be safe to ask them.”

“Very safe, as they're both dentists,” said Hermione with a smile.

Once the holidays had started, Ron and Harry were having too good a time to think much about Flamel. They had the dormitory to themselves and the common room was far emptier than usual, so they were able to get the good armchairs by the fire. They sat by the hour eating anything they could spear on a toasting fork... bread, English muffins, marshmallows… and plotting ways of getting Malfoy expelled, which were fun to talk about even if they wouldn't work. Much to their surprise John was actually taken to the Ministry of Magic by Dumbledore as to inform them of Muggle-magic. John was NOT pleased in the slightest, because that’d mean that he couldn’t do his job as an exorcist and Demonologist after school once the Ministry devises a way to sense Muggle-magic and when students currently enrolled are using it.

Ron also started teaching Harry wizard chess. This was exactly like Muggle chess except that the figures were alive, which made it a lot like directing troops in battle. Ron's set was very old and battered. Like everything else he owned, it had once belonged to someone else in his family… in this case, his grandfather. However, old chessmen weren't a drawback at all. Ron knew them so well he never had trouble getting them to do what he wanted.

Harry played with chessmen Seamus Finnigan had lent him, and they didn't trust him at all. He wasn't a very good player yet and they kept shouting different bits of advice at him, which was confusing. “Don't send me there, can't you see his knight? Send him, we can afford to lose him.” On Christmas Eve, Harry went to bed looking forward to the next day for the food and the fun, but not expecting any presents at all. When he woke early in the morning, however, the first thing he saw was a small pile of packages at the foot of his bed.

“Merry Christmas,” said Ron sleepily as Harry scrambled out of bed and pulled on his bathrobe.

“You, too," said Harry, “Will you look at this? I've got some presents!”

“What did you expect, turnips?” said Ron, turning to his own pile, which was a lot bigger than Harry's.

Harry picked up the top parcel. It was wrapped in thick brown paper and scrawled across it was To Harry, from Hagrid. Inside was a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid had obviously whittled it himself. Harry blew it... it sounded a bit like an owl.

A second, very small parcel contained a note.

We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Taped to the note was a fifty-pence piece.

"That's friendly," said Harry.

Ron was fascinated by the fifty pence.

“Weird!” he said, “What a shape! This is money?”

“You can keep it,” said Harry, laughing at how pleased Ron was, “Hagrid and my aunt and uncle… so who sent these?”

“I think I know who that one's from,” said Ron, turning a bit pink and pointing to a very lumpy parcel, “My mom. I told her you didn't expect any presents and… oh, no,” he groaned, “she's made you a Weasley sweater.”

Harry had torn open the parcel to find a thick, hand-knitted sweater in emerald green and a large box of homemade fudge.

“Every year she makes us a sweater,” said Ron, unwrapping his own, “and mine's always maroon.”

“That's really nice of her,” said Harry, trying the fudge, which was very tasty.

His next present also contained candy… a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione.

This only left one parcel. Harry picked it up and felt it. It was very light. He unwrapped it.

Something fluid and silvery gray went slithering to the floor where it lay in gleaming folds. Ron gasped.

“I've heard of those,” he said in a hushed voice, dropping the box of Every Flavor Beans he'd gotten from Hermione, “If that's what I think it is… they're really rare, and really valuable.”

“What is it?”

Harry picked the shining, silvery cloth off the floor. It was strange to the touch, like water woven into material.

“It's an invisibility cloak,” said Ron, a look of awe on his face, “I'm sure it is… try it on.”

Harry threw the cloak around his shoulders and Ron gave a yell.

“It is! Look down!”

Harry looked down at his feet, but they were gone. He dashed to the mirror. Sure enough, his reflection looked back at him, just his head suspended in midair, his body completely invisible. He pulled the cloak over his head and his reflection vanished completely.

“There's a note!" said Ron suddenly, “A note fell out of it!”

Harry pulled off the cloak and seized the letter. Written in narrow, loopy writing he had never seen before were the following words:

_Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well._

_A Very Merry Christmas to you._


	6. Erised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and John find the mirror of Erised, they discover who Nicolas Flamel is and how he's involved with their case. John finds himself on a new case, John finds out what he desires, John reveals another bit of his family's background.

Chapter 6: Erised

 

There was no signature. Harry stared at the note. Ron was admiring the cloak.

“I'd give anything for one of these,” he said, “Anything. What's the matter?”

“Nothing,” said Harry. He felt very strange. Who had sent the cloak? Had it really once belonged to his father?

Before he could say or think anything else, the dormitory door was flung open and Fred and George Weasley bounded in. Harry stuffed the cloak quickly out of sight. He didn't feel like sharing it with anyone else yet.

“Merry Christmas!”

“Hey, look… Harry's got a Weasley sweater, too!”

Fred and George were wearing blue sweaters, one with a large yellow F on it, the other a G.

“Harry's is better than ours, though,” said Fred, holding up Harry's sweater, “She obviously makes more of an effort if you're not family.”

“Why aren't you wearing yours, Ron?” George demanded, “Come on, get it on, they're lovely and warm.”

“I hate maroon,” Ron moaned halfheartedly as he pulled it over his head.

“You haven't got a letter on yours,” George observed, “I suppose she thinks you don't forget your name. But we're not stupid… we know we're called Gred and Forge.”

“What's all this noise?”

Percy Weasley stuck his head through the door, looking disapproving. He had clearly gotten halfway through unwrapping his presents as he, too, carried a lumpy sweater over his arm, which Fred seized.

“P for prefect! Get it on, Percy, come on, we're all wearing ours, even Harry got one.”

“I… don't… want,” said Percy thickly, as the twins forced the sweater over his head, knocking his glasses askew.

“And you're not sitting with the prefects today, either,” said George, “Christmas is a time for family.”

They frog-marched Percy from the room, his arms pinned to his side by his sweater.

Harry had never in all his life had such a Christmas dinner. A hundred fat, roast turkeys; mountains of roast and boiled potatoes; platters of chipolatas; tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce... and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the table. These fantastic party favors were nothing like the feeble Muggle ones the Dursleys usually bought, with their little plastic toys and their flimsy paper hats inside. Harry pulled a wizard cracker with Fred and it didn't just bang, it went off with a blast like a cannon and engulfed them all in a cloud of blue smoke, while from the inside exploded a rear admiral's hat and several live, white mice. Up at the High Table, Dumbledore had swapped his pointed wizard's hat for a flowered bonnet, and was chuckling merrily at a joke Professor Flitwick had just read him.

“Where’s John?” Harry asked when he saw Dumbledore.

“Over there,” Ron said as he pointed to the Ravenclaw table where he was nervously looking at a brunette girl and then back to his food, and then up to the roof. Especially, since they both sat under mistletoe.

“Looks like he might be getting lucky tonight,” Fred said with a grin, “Right Percy.”

“Gross,” Percy said, “they’re much too young, and that is not a topic for meal time. Also, doing… that… at school is highly frowned upon.”

Flaming Christmas puddings followed the turkey. Percy nearly broke his teeth on a silver sickle embedded in his slice. Harry watched Hagrid getting redder and redder in the face as he called for more wine, finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, to Harry's amazement, giggled and blushed, her top hat lopsided.

When Harry finally left the table, he was laden down with a stack of things out of the crackers, including a pack of non-explodable, luminous balloons, a Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit, and his own new wizard chess set. The white mice had disappeared and Harry had a nasty feeling they were going to end up as Mrs. Norris's Christmas dinner.

He glanced at John and noticed that the brunette girl was now right next to him purposefully leaning on him.

Harry and the Weasleys spent a happy afternoon having a furious snowball fight on the grounds. Then, cold, wet, and gasping for breath, they returned to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, where Harry broke in his new chess set by losing spectacularly to Ron. He suspected he wouldn't have lost so badly if Percy hadn't tried to help him so much.

After a meal of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle, and Christmas cake, everyone felt too full and sleepy to do much before bed except sit and watch Percy chase Fred and George all over Gryffindor tower because they'd stolen his prefect badge.

It had been Harry's best Christmas day ever. Yet something had been nagging at the back of his mind all day. Not until he climbed into bed was he free to think about it: the invisibility cloak and whoever had sent it.

Ron, full of turkey and cake and with nothing mysterious to bother him, fell asleep almost as soon as he'd drawn the curtains of his four-poster. Harry leaned over the side of his own bed and pulled the cloak out from under it.

His father's… this had been his father's. He let the material flow over his hands, smoother than silk, light as air. Use it well, the note had said.

He had to try it, now. He slipped out of bed and wrapped the cloak around himself. Looking down at his legs, he saw only moonlight and shadows. It was a very funny feeling.

Use it well.

Suddenly, Harry felt wide-awake. The whole of Hogwarts was open to him in this cloak. Excitement flooded through him as he stood there in the dark and silence. He could go anywhere in this, anywhere, and Filch would never know.

Ron grunted in his sleep. Should Harry wake him? Something held him back… his father's cloak… he felt that this time… the first time… he wanted to use it alone.

He crept out of the dormitory, down the stairs, across the common room, and climbed through the portrait hole.

“Who's there?” squawked the Fat Lady. Harry said nothing. He walked quickly down the corridor.

Where should he go? He stopped, his heart racing, and thought. And then it came to him. The Restricted Section in the library. He'd be able to read as long as he liked, as long as it took to find out who Flamel was. He set off, drawing the invisibility cloak tight around him as he walked.

The library was pitch-black and very eerie. Harry lit a lamp to see his way along the rows of books. The lamp looked as if it was floating along in midair, and even though Harry could feel his arm supporting it, the sight gave him the creeps.

The Restricted Section was right at the back of the library. Stepping carefully over the rope that separated these books from the rest of the library, he held up his lamp to read the titles.

“Psst,” said a voice and when Harry turned to look at its owner he saw John. John was wearing glasses… John never wears glasses.

“I can see you Potter,” John whispered. That made Harry star panicking. For a second he thought his invisibility cloak malfunctioned and only made itself invisible.

“How?” Harry whispered.

“Special glasses I swiped from the Ministry,” John whispered back, “Now get over here.”

“But,” Harry said as he looked between the books and John, “Nicolas Flamel…”

“Won’t be in those books,” John said, “I already looked through them while I was doing the non-stop research.”

 _Oh_ thought Harry, and he believed John about that so he hurried over to John who joined Harry under it.

“Shhh,” John said to stop Harry from speaking. He looked around till he saw who he had been eavesdropping on earlier. It was Felix Faust all alone till an older taller person covered in a sith style cloak appeared out of nowhere.

“So,” the taller person said, “Do you have anything to report?”

“Yeah,” Felix said, “Looks like the target is as oblivious as you said he’d be. He has no idea I’m stalking him for you.”

“Good,” the person said, “Now keep up with what you’re doing. Don’t expect me to show up at the school again. Too risky.”

The figure then moved his/her head around and then focused on a light that was waving and getting closer to Harry and John’s position.

“Go,” said the figure before he/she vanished. Felix Faust ran off just as Argus Filch arrived. Harry and John stayed as still as possible till Filch had passed them. They then hurried off.

They came to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armor. They had been so busy getting away from the library, they hadn't paid attention to where they were going. Perhaps because it was dark, they didn't recognize where they were at all. There was a suit of armor near the kitchens, they knew, but they must be five floors above there.

“You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody's been near the Restricted Section.”

Harry felt the blood drain out of his face. John just grew a grim expression. Wherever they were, Filch must know a shortcut, because his soft, greasy voice was getting nearer, and to Harry’s horror, it was Snape who replied, “The Restricted Section? Well, they can't be far, we'll catch them.”

Harry and John stood rooted to the spot as Filch and Snape came around the corner ahead. They couldn't see them, of course, but it was a narrow corridor and if they came much nearer they'd knock right into them… the cloak didn't stop them from being solid.

They backed away as quietly as they could. A door stood ajar to their left. It was their only hope. They squeezed through it, holding their breath, trying not to move it, and to their relief they managed to get inside the room without their noticing anything. They walked straight past, and Harry and John leaned against the wall, breathing deeply, listening to their footsteps dying away. That had been close, very close. It was a few seconds before they noticed anything about the room they had hidden in.

It looked like an unused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper basket… but propped against the wall facing them was something that didn't look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the way.

It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. Harry’s panic fading now that there was no sound of Filch and Snape, Harry moved nearer to the mirror, wanting to look at himself but see no reflection again. He stepped in front of it.

“I show you not your face, but your heart’s desire,” said Constantine as he looked at the inscription. However, Harry wasn’t even listening.

He had to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself from screaming. He whirled around. His heart was pounding far more furiously than when Filch and Snape were heading their way outside the room… for he had seen not only himself in the mirror, but a whole crowd of people standing right behind him.

But the room was empty except for John. Breathing very fast, he turned slowly back to the mirror.

“What did you see?” John asked. Once again, Harry ignored him.

There he was, reflected in it, white and scared-looking, and there, reflected behind him, were at least ten others. Harry looked over his shoulder… but still, only John was there. Or were they all invisible, too? Was he in fact in a room full of invisible people and this mirror's trick was that it reflected them, invisible or not?

He looked in the mirror again. A woman standing right behind his reflection was smiling at him and waving. He reached out a hand and felt the air behind him. If she was really there, he'd touch her, their reflections were so close together, but he felt only air… she and the others existed only in the mirror.

She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her eyes… _her eyes are just like mine_ , Harry thought, edging a little closer to the glass. Bright green… exactly the same shape, but then he noticed that she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her put his arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy. It stuck up at the back, just as Harry's did.

Harry was so close to the mirror now that his nose was nearly touching that of his reflection.

“Mom?” he whispered, “Dad?”

“That’s not good,” John muttered realizing that Harry will come back to the mirror as much as possible. He also knew that Harry wouldn’t listen to him. For Harry’s own good, he has to tell Dumbledore.

They just looked at Harry, smiling. And slowly, Harry looked into the faces of the other people in the mirror, and saw other pairs of green eyes like his, other noses like his, even a little old man who looked as though he had Harry's knobbly knees… Harry was looking at his family, for the first time in his life.

The Potters smiled and waved at Harry and he stared hungrily back at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he was hoping to fall right through it and reach them. He had a powerful kind of ache inside him, half joy, half terrible sadness.

How long he stood there, he didn't know. The reflections did not fade and he looked and looked until a distant noise brought him back to his senses. He couldn't stay here, he had to find his way back to bed. He tore his eyes away from his mother's face, whispered, “I'll come back,” and hurried from the room.

“Wait!” John called after him, but Harry was gone.

“Ah, bollocks,” John said before he turned to the mirror. He slowly walked towards it, and against his better judgement he stopped right in front of it.

In the mirror he saw a much older Anne Marie standing next to a much older him. She had a golden ring on her left hand finger, and so did he. The image then switched to a blonde woman and a dark haired woman standing behind him. They both looked at him in kindness and one was clearly older than the other. It was his mother and his sister. He looked behind him to see if they were actually there, but they weren’t. Unlike Harry, he knew they weren’t real. It didn’t reduce the sadness though. He didn’t know how long he stood there, but he looked away when he heard a door open.

He quickly hid behind the mirror and stayed absolutely still. He heard a sniffing sound and knew that it was Mrs. Norris. Good thing he had acquired something as they were returning from the Ministry the normal way as Dumbledore wanted to go the scenic route. He quickly through a bag of green plants to the far side of the room where it made a thudding sound. As Mrs. Norris went to investigate it, he snuck to the door and left as Mrs. Norris rubbed the catnip all over herself.

**The next morning, at the Gryffindor table…**

Harry and Ron were having a conversation about the mirror Erised, and Ron wasn’t very pleased.

“You could have woken me up,” said Ron crossly.

“You can come tonight, I'm going back, I want to show you the mirror.”

“I'd like to see your mom and dad,” Ron said eagerly.

“And I want to see all your family, all the Weasleys, you'll be able to show me your other brothers and everyone.”

“You can see them any old time,” said Ron, “Just come round my house this summer. Anyway, maybe it only shows dead people. Shame about not finding Flamel, though. Have some bacon or something, why aren't you eating anything?”

Harry couldn't eat. He had seen his parents and would be seeing them again tonight. He had almost forgotten about Flamel. It didn't seem very important anymore. Who cared what the three headed dog was guarding? What did it matter if Snape stole it, really?

“Are you all right?” said Ron, “You look odd.”

What Harry feared most was that he might not be able to find the mirror room again. With Ron covered in the cloak, too, they had to walk much more slowly the next night. They tried retracing Harry's route from the library, wandering around the dark passageways for nearly an hour. Constantine didn’t go with them. He was done with the mirror.

“I'm freezing,” said Ron, “Let's forget it and go back.”

“No!” Harry hissed, “I know it's here somewhere.”

They passed the ghost of a tall witch gliding in the opposite direction, but saw no one else. just as Ron started moaning that his feet were dead with cold, Harry spotted the suit of armor.

“It's here… just here… yes!”

They pushed the door open. Harry dropped the cloak from around his shoulders and ran to the mirror.

There they were. His mother and father beamed at the sight of him.

“See?” Harry whispered.

“I can't see anything.”

“Look! Look at them all… there are loads of them…”

“I can only see you.”

“Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am.”

Harry stepped aside, but with Ron in front of the mirror, he couldn't see his family anymore, just Ron in his paisley pajamas.

Ron, though, was staring transfixed at his image.

“Look at me!” he said.

“Can you see all your family standing around you?”

“No… I'm alone… but I'm different… I look older… and I'm head boy!”

“What?”

“I am… I'm wearing the badge like Bill used to… and I'm holding the house cup and the Quidditch cup… I'm Quidditch captain, too.”

Ron tore his eyes away from this splendid sight to look excitedly at Harry.

“Do you think this mirror shows the future?”

“How can it? All my family are dead… let me have another look…”

“You had it to yourself all last night, give me a bit more time.”

“You're only holding the Quidditch cup, what's interesting about that? I want to see my parents.”

“Don't push me…”

A sudden noise outside in the corridor put an end to their discussion. They hadn't realized how loudly they had been talking.

“Quick!”

Ron threw the cloak back over them as the luminous eyes of Mrs. Norris came round the door looking for more catnip. Ron and Harry stood quite still, both thinking the same thing… did the cloak work on cats? After what seemed an age, she turned and left. Clearly figured out there wasn’t anyone there.

“This isn't safe… she might have gone for Filch, I bet she heard us. Come on.”

And Ron pulled Harry out of the room.

The snow still hadn't melted the next morning.

“Want to play chess, Harry?” said Ron.

“No.”

“Why don't we go down and visit Hagrid?”

“No… you go…”

“I know what you're thinking about, Harry, that mirror. Don't go back tonight.”

“Why not?”

“I dunno, I've just got a bad feeling about it… and anyway, you've had too many close shaves already. Filch, Snape, and Mrs. Norris are wandering around. So what if they can't see you? What if they walk into you? What if you knock something over?”

“You sound like Hermione.”

“I'm serious, Harry, don't go.”

But Harry only had one thought in his head, which was to get back in front of the mirror, and Ron wasn't going to stop him.

John heard the entire conversation between Ron and Harry as he told Chas all about the night he found the mirror of Erised. He had hoped that Harry would’ve been able to resist the call like he did, so he waited to tell Dumbledore. However, he had no choice now. He saw Professor McGonagall and walked over to her.

“Mr. Constantine,” McGonagall asked, “What do you need?”

“I need to speak to Dumbledore,” John said.

“I’m sorry,” McGonagall said genuinely, “but Dumbledore is back at the Ministry arguing on your behalf concerning your use of that Muggle-magic you brought to Hogwarts. However, whatever you need to tell him you can surely tell me.”

“Fine,” John said, “I don’t have time to wait anyway. Tell Dumbledore that Harry knows about THE mirror.”

“I don’t-” began McGonagall before she realized that John knew about Erised and by extension so did Harry.

“How did you find out about that?” McGonagall asked sternly.

“I was working on a case,” John said, “and bumped into Harry and then we found Erised.”

“What case?” McGonagall asked.

“I’m sorry Professor,” John said, “but the less people know the specifics, the better. I don’t want to accidentally tip the wrong people off.”

“Fine,” McGonagall said, “I still don’t see why Dumbledore gave you permission to go on these little jaunts of yours just because you’re a demonologist and an exorcist in training.”

**Later, at night…**

That third night Harry found his way more quickly than before. He was walking so fast he knew he was making more noise than was wise, but he didn't meet anyone.

And there were his mother and father smiling at him again, and one of his grandfathers nodding happily. Harry sank down to sit on the floor in front of the mirror. There was nothing to stop him from staying here all night with his family. Nothing at all.

Except…

“So… back again, Harry?”

Harry felt as though his insides had turned to ice. He looked behind him. Sitting on one of the desks by the wall was none other than Albus Dumbledore. Harry must have walked straight past him, so desperate to get to the mirror he hadn't noticed him.

“... I didn't see you, sir.”

“Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you,” said Dumbledore, and Harry was relieved to see that he was smiling.

“So,” said Dumbledore, slipping off the desk to sit on the floor with Harry, “you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised.”

“I didn't know it was called that, Sir.”

“But I expect you've realized by now what it does?”

“It… well… it shows me my family…”

“And it showed your friend Ron himself as head boy.”

“How did you know-”

“I don't need a cloak to become invisible,” said Dumbledore gently, “Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?”

Harry shook his head.

“Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?”

Harry thought. Then he said slowly, “It shows us what we want… whatever we want…”

“Yes and no,” said Dumbledore quietly, “It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.”

“The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?”

Harry stood up.

“Sir… Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?”

“Obviously, you've just done so,” Dumbledore smiled, “You may ask me one more thing, however.”

“What do you see when you look in the mirror?”

“Hmm. I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks.”

Harry stared.

“One can never have enough socks,” said Dumbledore, “Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books.”

When Harry had left Dumbledore got up off of the floor and dusted himself off.

“You may come out now, John,” Dumbledore said. John then walked out of the shadows as he dropped a coin on the ground before it became dust.

“How did you know-” John began.

“You were there?” Dumbledore finished.

“Yes,” John said, “Especially since I wasn’t using an invisibility cloak or the chameleon spell you used.”

“I heard your footsteps as you followed me,” Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eyes as he turned to look at John, “I do thank you for sending me that message John. However, as you now know, it was not needed. I already knew. Let me ask you something. The night you found Erised, did you look into it?”

John walked up to the mirror and saw what he saw before, but this time they were one image.

“Yes,” John said as he turned away from it, “However, I knew it was fake.”

“I would’ve been more surprised if you didn’t know,” Dumbledore said, “Especially considering your past experiences. What did you see?”

“I saw my mum and sister,” John answered half-truthfully, “They both looked at me with kindness and love. That is how I knew it was fake.”

“Really?” Dumbledore said, “Pray tell.”

“Mum died when I was born,” John said, “and my sister… my sister joined you-know-who’s side. I like to think that a trace of the demon my mum and dad exorcised from her remained, but I know better. According to mum, she always got along with her uncle.”

“Lucius Malfoy,” Dumbledore stated rather than asked.

“I have never…” John stammered, “How… Where…”

You kept your father’s surname,” Dumbledore explained, “It was pretty easy to find out who your mother was. Your mother was born Lucinda Malfoy. The only sister of Lucius Malfoy.”

John just gulped.

“Don’t worry,” Dumbledore smiled, “Your secret is safe with me. Whatever else you saw other than your family… tell someone. Keeping such secrets to oneself… does more harm than good.”

“I only-” John began.

“Only saw your mother and sister?” Dumbledore said, “No you didn’t. Stop lying to yourself.”

“It’s awkward and embarrassing,” John admitted, “I’d rather forget all about it to be honest.”

“It’s your choice,” Dumbledore said, “now unless you have another one of those objects, I’ll use my chameleon spell on you. It’ll wear off by tomorrow morning.”

It was only when he was back in bed that it struck John that Dumbledore was probably right about telling something the second thing he saw in the mirror. But then, he thought, _it’s too awkward and embarrassing to tell anyone_. He didn’t even tell Chas who he began telling a lot of things to.

**The next day, with Harry…**

Dumbledore had convinced Harry not to go looking for the Mirror of Erised again, and for the rest of the Christmas holidays the invisibility cloak stayed folded at the bottom of his trunk. Harry wished he could forget what he'd seen in the mirror as easily, but he couldn't. He started having nightmares. Over and over again he dreamed about his parents disappearing in a flash of green light, while a high voice cackled with laughter.

“You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad,” said Ron, when Harry told him about these dreams.

Hermione, who came back the day before term started, took a different view of things. She was torn between horror at the idea of Harry being out of bed, roaming the school three nights in a row (“If Filch had caught you!”), and disappointment that he hadn't at least found out who Nicolas Flamel was.

They had almost given up hope of ever finding Flamel in a library book, even though Harry was still sure he'd read the name somewhere. Once term had started, they were back to skimming through books for ten minutes during their breaks. Harry had even less time than the other two, because Quidditch practice had started again.

Wood was working the team harder than ever. Even the endless rain that had replaced the snow couldn't dampen his spirits. The Weasleys complained that Wood was becoming a fanatic, but Harry was on Wood's side. If they won their next match, against Hufflepuff, they would overtake Slytherin in the house championship for the first time in seven years. Quite apart from wanting to win, Harry found that he had fewer nightmares when he was tired out after training.

Then, during one particularly wet and muddy practice session, Wood gave the team a bit of bad news. He'd just gotten very angry with the Weasleys, who kept dive-bombing each other and pretending to fall off their brooms.

“Will you stop messing around!” he yelled, “That's exactly the sort of thing that'll lose us the match! Snape's refereeing this time, and he'll be looking for any excuse to knock points off Gryffindor!”

George Weasley really did fall off his broom at these words.

“Snape's refereeing?” he spluttered through a mouthful of mud, “When's he ever refereed a Quidditch match? He's not going to be fair if we might overtake Slytherin.”

The rest of the team landed next to George to complain, too.

“It's not my fault,” said Wood, “We've just got to make sure we play a clean game, so Snape hasn't got an excuse to pick on us.”

Which was all very well, thought Harry, but he had another reason for not wanting Snape near him while he was playing Quidditch…

The rest of the team hung back to talk to one another as usual at the end of practice, but Harry headed straight back to the Gryffindor common room, where he found Ron and Hermione playing chess. Chess was the only thing Hermione ever lost at, something Harry and Ron thought was very good for her.

“Don't talk to me for a moment,” said Ron when Harry sat down next to him, “I need to concen-” He caught sight of Harry's face, “What's the matter with you? You look terrible.”

Speaking quietly so that no one else would hear, Harry told the other two about Snape's sudden, sinister desire to be a Quidditch referee.

“Don't play,” said Hermione at once.

“Say you're ill,” said Ron.

“Pretend to break your leg,” Hermione suggested.

“Really break your leg,” said Ron.

“I can't,” said Harry, “There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I back out, Gryffindor can't play at all.”

At that moment Neville toppled into the common room. Right behind him was Constantine. How he had managed to climb through the portrait hole was anyone's guess, because his legs had been stuck together with what they recognized at once as the Leg-Locker Curse. He must have had to bunny hop all the way up to Gryffindor tower.

“Okay,” Neville said, “I got you in, now please release me.”

“Nah,” Constantine said as he looked around for Harry.

“But,” Neville protested, “you promised.”

“I lied,” Constantine said, “Besides, I don’t know the spell to release you. Can’t exactly use my muggle-magic to do it. Way too risky. Also, seeing you having to hop around like a rabbit is way too enticing than releasing you.”

Everyone fell over laughing except Hermione, who leapt up and performed the countercurse. Neville's legs sprang apart and he got to his feet, trembling. “What happened?” Hermione asked him, leading him over to sit with Harry and Ron.

“Malfoy,” said Neville shakily, “I met him outside the library. He said he'd been looking for someone to practice that on.”

“Go to Professor McGonagall!” Hermione urged Neville, “Report him!”

Neville shook his head.

“I don't want more trouble,” he mumbled.

“You've got to stand up to him, Neville!” said Ron, “He's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier.”

“There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy's already done that,” Neville choked out.

Harry felt in the pocket of his robes and pulled out a Chocolate Frog, the very last one from the box Hermione had given him for Christmas. He gave it to Neville, who looked as though he might cry.

“You're worth twelve of Malfoy,” Harry said, “The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where's Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin.”

“Potter’s right,” John said from the doorway, “Draco is nothing but a sniveling coward and a bully. He uses others to get what he wants.”

“You don’t get to talk,” Hermione said sternly, “You just used Neville to get into our common room, which is the one place you aren’t allowed in. Other than the Forbidden Forest and the 3rd floor corridor, of course.”

Neville's lips twitched in a weak smile as he unwrapped the frog.

“Thanks, Harry… I think I'll go to bed… D'you want the card, you collect them, don't you?”

As Neville walked away, Harry looked at the Famous Wizard card.

“Dumbledore again,” he said, “He was the first one I ever-”

He gasped. He stared at the back of the card. Then he looked up at Ron and Hermione.

“I've found him!” he whispered, “I've found Flamel! I told you I'd read the name somewhere before, I read it on the train coming here -- listen to this: 'Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel'!”

Hermione jumped to her feet. She hadn't looked so excited since they'd gotten back the marks for their very first piece of homework. Constantine perked up as well when Harry said that.

“Stay there!” she said, and she sprinted up the stairs to the girls' dormitories. Harry and Ron barely had time to exchange mystified looks before she was dashing back, an enormous old book in her arms. He walked over to them completely forgetting the real reason he came to the Gryffindor common room. They reached Harry and Ron at the exact same time.

“I never thought to look in here!” she whispered excitedly, “I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading.”

“Light?” said Ron, but Hermione told him to be quiet until she'd looked something up, and started flicking frantically through the pages, muttering to herself.

At last she found what she was looking for.

“I knew it! I knew it!”

“Are we allowed to speak yet?” said Ron grumpily. Hermione ignored him.

“Nicolas Flamel,” she whispered dramatically, “is the only known maker of the Sorcerer's Stone!”

“Of course!” John said as he began ruffling through his robes, “That explains my package.”

“The what?” said Harry and Ron.

“Oh, honestly, don't you two read? Look… read that, there.”

She pushed the book toward them, and Harry and Ron read: The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Sorcerer's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal.

There have been many reports of the Sorcerer's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight).

“See?” said Hermione, when Harry and Ron had finished, “The dog must be guarding Flamel's Sorcerer's Stone! I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they're friends and he knew someone was after it, that's why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts!”

“A stone that makes gold and stops you from ever dying!” said Harry, “No wonder Snape's after it! Anyone would want it.”

“Not anyone,” constantine said as he pulled out an object, “Everyone. Cults, the church, governments, terrorists, anything you can think of. This isn’t the first stone that has been made either. Its been made several times, but the only one added to the myths was called the Philosopher’s Stone. Same thing as the Sorcerer’s Stone but Greek.”

“What is that?” Hermione asked as she looked at the object in Constantine’s hand.

“This chest was designed to hold the stone,” John explained, “It was designed to hide its power. The markings all over the box also suppress the stone’s power. Unlike what people think, the stones have never been able to be destroyed except by time. They’re too powerful. The only way to rid the world of them immediately is by using one of these. Each stone has been more powerful than the last, and that’s why each box has different runes on them. The more powerful the stone, the more powerful the box and the longer it takes for them to become depleted of power.”

“Why do you have a thing like that?” Hermione asked.

“My mum was in a secret society that had sworn to keep the stones’ out of mortal hands,” John explained, “When she died, my sister became apart of it till she was excommunicated. My dad refused to believe that such stones existed so he rejected the offer. They were lucky with me though. It was the only way I could think of to be close to my mum. Anyway, we find the stone I’ll put it in the box and send it to the society.”

“And no wonder we couldn't find Flamel in that Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry,” said Ron, “He's not exactly recent if he's six hundred and sixty-five, is he?”

“Really?” John asked, “That’s what interests you? Not a secret society bent on protecting humanity from itself?”

“Pretty much,” Ron said.

“I was interested,” Hermione said honestly.


	7. Norbert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hagrid gets a dragon, Harry wins a second game for Gryffindor, John interrogates Felix Faust, Snape and Quirrell have a secret meeting.

Chapter 7: Norbert

 

The next morning in Defense Against the Dark Arts, while copying down different ways of treating werewolf bites, Harry and Ron were still discussing what they'd do with a Sorcerer's Stone if they had one. It wasn't until Ron said he'd buy his own Quidditch team that Harry remembered about Snape and the coming match. Harry was very skeptical about the whole secret society thing John rambled about last night. Ron was just thinking about what he could do with the stone for his family.

“I'm going to play,” he told Ron and Hermione, “If I don't, all the Slytherins will think I'm just too scared to face Snape. I'll show them… it'll really wipe the smiles off their faces if we win.”

“Just as long as we're not wiping you off the field,” said Hermione.

As the match drew nearer, however, Harry became more and more nervous, whatever he told Ron and Hermione. The rest of the team wasn't too calm, either. The idea of overtaking Slytherin in the house championship was wonderful, no one had done it for seven years, but would they be allowed to, with such a biased referee?

Harry didn't know whether he was imagining it or not, but he seemed to keep running into Snape wherever he went. At times, he even wondered whether Snape was following him, trying to catch him on his own. Potions lessons were turning into a sort of weekly torture, Snape was so horrible to Harry. Could Snape possibly know they'd found out about the Sorcerer's Stone? Harry didn't see how he could… yet he sometimes had the horrible feeling that Snape could read minds.

Harry knew, when they wished him good luck outside the locker rooms the next afternoon, that Ron and Hermione were wondering whether they'd ever see him alive again. This wasn't what you'd call comforting. Harry hardly heard a word of Wood's pep talk as he pulled on his Quidditch robes and picked up his Nimbus Two Thousand.

Ron and Hermione, meanwhile, had found a place in the stands next to Neville, who couldn't understand why they looked so grim and worried, or why they had both brought their wands to the match. Little did Harry know that Ron and Hermione had been secretly practicing the Leg-Locker Curse. They'd gotten the idea from Malfoy using it on Neville, and were ready to use it on Snape if he showed any sign of wanting to hurt Harry. Little did they know that they were being watched. Felix Faust was standing in the shadows gaining info on Constantine’s friends.

“Now, don't forget, it's Locomotor Mortis,” Hermione muttered as Ron slipped his wand up his sleeve.

“I know,” Ron snapped, “Don't nag.”

“You do know Snape will blame Harry for it right?” John asked as he walked up.

“Uh…” Hermione said paling.

“Hold that thought,” John said before he whirled to Felix’s spot and whipped out his wand.

“Petrificus Totalus!” John shouted, but the spell missed Felix as he dodged.

“Bugger,” John muttered as Felix began making his get-a-way.

“Locomotor Mortis!” Hermione shouted and hit Felix on the back. The next second later, Felix spun as he fell down onto the floor.

“Thanks for that pet,” John said as he put his wand away while walking towards Felix.

“Now then,” Constantine said as he knelt next to Felix and looked him in the face, “You are going to tell me why you are spying on Ron Weasley?”

Felix just glared at him which made John frown unhappily.

“Spying on me?!” Ron exclaimed, “What’s he doing that for?”

“I’ll find out,” John said as without looking at Ron, “Looks like I’m going to be missing another match.”

**With Harry, in the locker room…**

Wood had taken Harry aside.

“Don't want to pressure you, Potter, but if we ever need an early capture of the Snitch it's now. Finish the game before Snape can favor Hufflepuff too much.”

“The whole school's out there!” said Fred Weasley, peering out of the door, “Even… blimey… Dumbledore's come to watch!”

Harry's heart did a somersault.

“Dumbledore?” he asked, dashing to the door to make sure. Fred was right. There was no mistaking that silver beard.

Harry could have laughed out loud with relief. He was safe. There was simply no way that Snape would dare to try to hurt him if Dumbledore was watching.

Perhaps that was why Snape was looking so angry as the teams marched onto the field, something that Ron noticed, too. “I've never seen Snape look so mean,” he told Hermione, “Look, they're off Ouch!”

Someone had poked Ron in the back of the head. It was Malfoy.

“Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there.”

Malfoy grinned broadly at Crabbe and Goyle.

“Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasley?”

Ron didn't answer; Snape had just awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because George Weasley had hit a Bludger at him. Hermione, who had all her fingers crossed in her lap, was squinting fixedly at Harry, who was circling the game like a hawk, looking for the Snitch.

“You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?” said Malfoy loudly a few minutes later, as Snape awarded Hufflepuff another penalty for no reason at all, “It's people they feel sorry for. See, there's Potter, who's got no parents, then there's the Weasleys, who've got no money… you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains.”

“Shut your mouth Malfoy,” Chas said as he jabbed his wand into Draco’s side, “That is, if you want to keep your lungs intact.”

“Is that a threat?!” Malfoy exclaimed.

“So what if it is?” Chas said.

“My father’s going to hear about this,” Malfoy snarled, “And then you’re going to be expelled from Hogwarts.”

“And I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy,” Neville stammered.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle howled with laughter, but Ron, still not daring to take his eyes from the game, said, “You tell him, Neville.”

“Longbottom, if brains were gold you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something.”

Ron's nerves were already stretched to the breaking point with anxiety about Harry.

“I'm warning you, Malfoy… one more word.”

“Ron!” said Hermione suddenly, “Harry-”

“What? Where?”

Harry had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and cheers from the crowd. Hermione stood up, her crossed fingers in her mouth, as Harry streaked toward the ground like a bullet.

“You're in luck, Weasley, Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground!” said Malfoy.

Ron snapped. Before Malfoy knew what was happening, Ron was on top of him, wrestling him to the ground. Neville hesitated, then clambered over the back of his seat to help. Chas also helped by stopping Crabbe and Goyle from going to the rescue of Draco.

“Come on, Harry!” Hermione screamed, leaping onto her seat to watch as Harry sped straight at Snape… she didn't even notice Malfoy and Ron rolling around under her seat, or the scuffles and yelps coming from the whirl of fists that was Neville, Crabbe, Goyle, and Chas.

Up in the air, Snape turned on his broomstick just in time to see something scarlet shoot past him, missing him by inches… the next second, Harry had pulled out of the dive, his arm raised in triumph, the Snitch clasped in his hand.

The stands erupted; it had to be a record, no one could ever remember the Snitch being caught so quickly.

“Ron! Ron! Where are you? The game's over! Harry's won! We've won! Gryffindor is in the lead!” shrieked Hermione, dancing up and down on her seat and hugging Parvati Patil in the row in front.

**With John and Felix…**

John had put Felix in a chair and tied his wrists to said chair, and then walked a few steps away.

“Now then,” John said as he pulled out his wand, “You’re going to tell me what I want to know willingly, or I’ll make you.”

“Do your worst,” Felix spat.

“Very well,” John sighed before he aimed his wand, “You leave me no choice. Crucio.”

Suddenly, Felix began screaming in pain but nobody except John could hear him. John had put some wards around the room to keep everyone outside of the room from hearing Felix’s torture.

**Back with Harry…**

Harry jumped off his broom, a foot from the ground. He couldn't believe it. He'd done it… the game was over; it had barely lasted five minutes. As Gryffindors came spilling onto the field, he saw Snape land nearby, white-faced and tight-lipped… then Harry felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into Dumbledore's smiling face.

“Well done,” said Dumbledore quietly, so that only Harry could hear, “Nice to see you haven't been brooding about that mirror… been keeping busy… excellent…”

Snape spat bitterly on the ground.

Harry left the locker room alone some time later, to take his Nimbus Two Thousand back to the broomshed. He couldn't ever remember feeling happier. He'd really done something to be proud of now… no one could say he was just a famous name any more. The evening air had never smelled so sweet. He walked over the damp grass, reliving the last hour in his head, which was a happy blur: Gryffindors running to lift him onto their shoulders; Ron and Hermione in the distance, jumping up and down, Ron cheering through a heavy nosebleed. Chas grinning as well with Crabbe or Goyle in a headlock.

Harry had reached the shed. He leaned against the wooden door and looked up at Hogwarts, with its windows glowing red in the setting sun. Gryffindor in the lead. He'd done it, he'd shown Snape…

And speaking of Snape…

A hooded figure came swiftly down the front steps of the castle. Clearly not wanting to be seen, it walked as fast as possible toward the forbidden forest. Harry's victory faded from his mind as he watched. He recognized the figure's prowling walk. Snape, sneaking into the forest while everyone else was at dinner… what was going on?

Harry jumped back on his Nimbus Two Thousand and took off. Gliding silently over the castle he saw Snape enter the forest at a run. He followed.

The trees were so thick he couldn't see where Snape had gone. He flew in circles, lower and lower, brushing the top branches of trees until he heard voices. He glided toward them and landed noiselessly in a towering beech tree.

He climbed carefully along one of the branches, holding tight to his broomstick, trying to see through the leaves. Below, in a shadowy clearing, stood Snape, but he wasn't alone. Quirrell was there, too. Harry couldn't make out the look on his face, but he was stuttering worse than ever. Harry strained to catch what they were saying.

“… d-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus…”

“Oh, I thought we'd keep this private,” said Snape, his voice icy, “Students aren't supposed to know about the Sorcerer's Stone, after all.”

Harry leaned forward. Quirrell was mumbling something. Snape interrupted him.

“Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?”

“B-b-but Severus, I-”

“You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell,” said Snape, taking a step toward him.

“I-I don't know what you-”

“You know perfectly well what I mean.”

An owl hooted loudly, and Harry nearly fell out of the tree. He steadied himself in time to hear Snape say, “-your little bit of hocus-pocus. I'm waiting.”

“B-but I d-d-don't-”

“Very well,” Snape cut in, “We'll have another little chat soon, when you've had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie.”

He threw his cloak over his head and strode out of the clearing. It was almost dark now, but Harry could see Quirrell, standing quite still as though he was petrified.

**Later…**

“Harry, where have you been?” Hermione squeaked.

“We won! You won! We won!” shouted Ron, thumping Harry on the back, “And I gave Malfoy a black eye, and Neville tried to take on Crabbe and Goyle with Chas’ help! He's still out cold but Madam Pomfrey says he'll be alright… talk about showing Slytherin! Everyone's waiting for you in the common room, we're having a party, Fred and George stole some cakes and stuff from the kitchens."

“Never mind that now,” said Harry breathlessly, “Let's find an empty room, you wait 'til you hear this…”

He made sure Geeves wasn't inside before shutting the door behind them, then he told them what he'd seen and heard.

“So we were right, it is the Sorcerer's Stone, and Snape's trying to force Quirrell to help him get it. He asked if he knew how to get past Fluffy - and he said something about Quirrell's 'hocus pocus… I reckon there are other things guarding the stone apart from Fluffy, loads of enchantments, probably, and Quirrell would have done some anti-Dark Arts spell that Snape needs to break through…”

“So you mean the Stone's only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?” said Hermione in alarm.

“It'll be gone by next Tuesday,” said Ron.

“That’s not the only bad news,” John said as he walked into the room with a grim expression.

“Did you find out why that guy was spying on me?” Ron asked.

“Aye,” John said, “He’s spying on you, because you’re associated with me. I’m the one he was sent here to spy on.”

Quirrell must have been braver than they'd thought. In the weeks that followed he did seem to be getting paler and thinner, but it didn't look as though he'd cracked yet.

Every time they passed the third-floor corridor, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and John would press their ears to the door to check that Fluffy was still growling inside. Snape was sweeping about in his usual bad temper, which surely meant that the Stone was still safe. Whenever Harry passed Quirrell these days he gave him an encouraging sort of smile, and Ron had started telling people off for laughing at Quirrell's stutter.

Hermione, however, had more on her mind than the Sorcerer's Stone. She had started drawing up study schedules and color coding all her notes. Harry and Ron wouldn't have minded, but she kept nagging them to do the same.

“Hermione, the exams are ages away.”

“Ten weeks,” Hermione snapped, “That's not ages, that's like a second to Nicolas Flamel.”

“But we're not six hundred years old,” Ron reminded her, “Anyway, what are you studying for, you already know it’ll be an A.”

“What am I studying for? Are you crazy? You realize we need to pass these exams to get into the second year? They're very important, I should have started studying a month ago, I don't know what's gotten into me…”

Unfortunately, the teachers seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Hermione. They piled so much homework on them that the Easter holidays weren't nearly as much fun as the Christmas ones. It was hard to relax with Hermione next to you reciting the twelve uses of dragon's blood or practicing wand movements. Moaning and yawning, Harry and Ron spent most of their free time in the library with her, trying to get through all their extra work.

"I'll never remember this," Ron burst out one afternoon, throwing down his quill and looking longingly out of the library window. It was the first really fine day they'd had in months. The sky was a clear, forget-me-not blue, and there was a feeling in the air of summer coming.

“You’ll get it mate,” John said as he sat next to them and leaned back in his chair while putting his feet onto the table.

“You’re not doing homework?” Ron asked.

“Already finished it mate,” John said as he put his feet down before Madam Pince could come over and bitch at him.

Harry, who was looking up “Dittany” in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, didn't look up until he heard Ron say, “Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?”

Hagrid shuffled into view, hiding something behind his back. He looked very out of place in his moleskin overcoat.

“Jus' lookin'," he said, in a shifty voice that got their interest at once.

“An' what're you lot up ter?” He looked suddenly suspicious, “Yer not still lookin' fer Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?”

“Oh, we found out who he is ages ago," said Ron impressively, "And we know what that dog's guarding, it's a Sorcerer's St-”

“Shhhh!” Hagrid looked around quickly to see if anyone was listening, “Don' go shoutin' about it, what's the matter with yeh?”

“There are a few things we wanted to ask you, as a matter of fact,” said Harry, “about what's guarding the Stone apart from Fluffy-”

“SHHHH!” said Hagrid again, “Listen - come an' see me later, I'm not promisin' I'll tell yeh anythin', mind, but don' go rabbitin' about it in here, students aren' s'pposed ter know. They'll think I've told yeh-”

“See you later, then,” said Harry.

Hagrid shuffled off.

“What was he hiding behind his back?” said Hermione thoughtfully.

“Do you think it had anything to do with the Stone?”

“I'm going to see what section he was in,” said Ron, who'd had enough of working. He came back a minute later with a pile of books in his arms and slammed them down on the table.

“Dragons!” he whispered, “Hagrid was looking up stuff about dragons! Look at these: Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland; From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper's Guide.”

“I’ve been wanting to get myself a dragon,” John said as he looked at the books, “Specifically a Gemnivore. That way I won’t have to worry about being eaten.”

“Hagrid's the same, he told me so the first time I ever met him,” said Harry.

“But it's against our laws,” said Ron, “Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks' Convention of 1709, everyone knows that. It's hard to stop Muggles from noticing us if we're keeping dragons in the back garden. Anyway, you can't tame dragons, it's dangerous. You should see the burns Charlie's got off wild ones in Romania.”

“But aren't there wild dragons in Britain?” said Harry.

“Of course there are,” said Ron, “Common Welsh Green and Hebridean Blacks. The Ministry of Magic has a job hushing them up, I can tell you. Our kind have to keep putting spells on Muggles who've spotted them, to make them forget.”

“So what on Earth’s Hagrid up to?” said Hermione.

When they knocked on the door of the gamekeeper's hut an hour later, they were surprised to see that all the curtains were closed. Hagrid called “Who is it?” before he let them in, and then shut the door quickly behind them.

It was stifling hot inside. Even though it was such a warm day, there was a blazing fire in the grate. Hagrid made them tea and offered them stoat sandwiches, which they refused.

“So… yeh wanted to ask me somethin’?”

“Yes,” said Harry. There was no point beating around the bush, “We were wondering if you could tell us what's guarding the Sorcerer's Stone apart from Fluffy.”

Hagrid frowned at him.

“He’s not going to tell us anything,” John said, “He can’t, because he doesn’t know. At least not for certain.”

“O’ course I cant,” he said “Number one, John’s right. I don' know meself. Number two, yeh know too much already, so I wouldn' tell yeh if I could. That Stone's here fer a good reason. It was almost stolen outta Gringotts, I s'ppose yeh've worked that out an' all? Beats me how yeh even know abou' Fluffy.”

“Oh, come on, Hagrid, you might not want to tell us, but you do know, you know everything that goes on round here,” said Hermione in a warm, flattering voice. Hagrid's beard twitched and they could tell he was smiling.

“We only wondered who had done the guarding, really.” Hermione went on, “We wondered who Dumbledore had trusted enough to help him, apart from you.”

Hagrid's chest swelled at these last words. Harry and Ron beamed at Hermione.

"Well, I don' s'pose it could hurt ter tell yeh that… let's see… he borrowed Fluffy from me… then some o' the teachers did enchantments… Professor Sprout… Professor Flitwick… Professor McGonagall-” he ticked them off on his fingers, “Professor Quirrell… an' Dumbledore himself did somethin', o' course. Hang on, I've forgotten someone. Oh yeah, Professor Snape.”

“Snape?”

“Yeah… yer not still on abou' that, are yeh? Look, Snape helped protect the Stone, he's not about ter steal it.”

Harry knew Ron and Hermione were thinking the same as he was. If Snape had been in on protecting the Stone, it must have been easy to find out how the other teachers had guarded it. He probably knew everything… except, it seemed, Quirrell's spell and how to get past Fluffy.

“You're the only one who knows how to get past Fluffy. aren't you, Hagrid?” said Harry anxiously, “And you wouldn't tell anyone, would you? Not even one of the teachers?”

“Not a soul knows except me an' Dumbledore,” said Hagrid proudly.

“Well, that's something,” Harry muttered to the others, “Hagrid, can we have a window open? I'm boiling.”

“Can't, Harry, sorry,” said Hagrid. Harry noticed him glance at the fire. Harry looked at it, too.

“Hagrid… what's that?”

But he already knew what it was. In the very heart of the fire, underneath the kettle, was a huge, black egg.

“Ah,” said Hagrid, fiddling nervously with his beard, “That's er…”

“That’s a dragon egg,” John said with a grin, “Never actually seen one up close.”

“Where did you get it, Hagrid?” said Ron, crouching over the fire to get a closer look at the egg, “It must've cost you a fortune.”

“Won it,” said Hagrid, “Las' night. I was down in the village havin' a few drinks an' got into a game o' cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest.”

“But what are you going to do with it when it's hatched?” said Hermione.

“Well, I've bin doin' some readin',” said Hagrid, pulling a large book from under his pillow, “Got this outta the library… Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit… it's a bit outta date, o' course, but it's all in here. Keep the egg in the fire, 'cause their mothers breathe on I em, see, an' when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o' brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An' see here… how ter recognize diff'rent eggs… what I got there's a Norwegian Ridgeback. They're rare, them.”

“Very dangerous too,” Ron said.

He looked very pleased with himself, but Hermione didn't.

“Hagrid, you live in a wooden house,” she said.

But Hagrid wasn't listening. He was humming merrily as he stoked the fire.

So now they had something else to worry about: what might happen to Hagrid if anyone found out he was hiding an illegal dragon in his hut. “Wonder what it's like to have a peaceful life”" Ron sighed, as evening after evening they struggled through all the extra homework they were getting. Hermione had now started making study schedules for Harry and Ron, too. It was driving them nuts.

Then, one breakfast time, Hedwig brought Harry another note from Hagrid. He had written only two words: It's hatching.

Ron wanted to skip Herbology and go straight down to the hut. Hermione wouldn't hear of it.

“Hermione, how many times in our lives are we going to see a dragon hatching?”

“We've got lessons, we'll get into trouble, and that's nothing to what Hagrid's going to be in when someone finds out what he's doing-”

“Shut up!” Harry whispered.

Malfoy was only a few feet away and he had stopped dead to listen. How much had he heard? Harry didn't like the look on Malfoy's face at all.

“Leave Malfoy to me,” John whispered as he stopped by there table for a second.

Ron and Hermione argued all the way to Herbology and in the end, Hermione agreed to run down to Hagrid's with the other two during morning break. When the bell sounded from the castle at the end of their lesson, the three of them including John dropped their trowels at once and hurried through the grounds to the edge of the forest. Hagrid greeted them, looking flushed and excited.

“It's nearly out.” He ushered them inside.

The egg was lying on the table. There were deep cracks in it. Something was moving inside; a funny clicking noise was coming from it.

They all drew their chairs up to the table and watched with bated breath.

All at once there was a scraping noise and the egg split open. The baby dragon flopped onto the table. It wasn't exactly pretty; Harry thought it looked like a crumpled, black umbrella. Its spiny wings were huge compared to its skinny jet body, it had a long snout with wide nostrils, the stubs of horns and bulging, orange eyes.

It sneezed. A couple of sparks flew out of its snout.

“Isn't he beautiful?” Hagrid murmured. He reached out a hand to stroke the dragon's head. It snapped at his fingers, showing pointed fangs.

“Bless him, look, he knows his mommy!” said Hagrid.

“Hagrid,” said Hermione, “how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?”

Hagrid was about to answer when the color suddenly drained from his face… he leapt to his feet and ran to the window.

“What's the matter?”

“Someone was lookin' through the gap in the curtains… it's a kid… he's runnin' back up ter the school.”

Harry bolted to the door and looked out. Even at a distance there was no mistaking him.

Malfoy had seen the dragon.

Something about the smile lurking on Malfoy's face during the next week made Harry, Ron, and Hermione very nervous. They spent most of their free time in Hagrid's darkened hut, trying to reason with him.

“Just let him go,” Harry urged, “Set him free.”

“I can't,” said Hagrid, “He's too little. He'd die.”

They looked at the dragon. It had grown three times in length in just a week. Smoke kept furling out of its nostrils. Hagrid hadn't been doing his gamekeeping duties because the dragon was keeping him so busy. There were empty brandy bottles and chicken feathers all over the floor.

“I've decided to call him Norbert,” said Hagrid, looking at the dragon with misty eyes, “He really knows me now, watch. Norbert! Norbert! Where's Mommy?”

“He's lost his marbles,” Ron muttered in Harry's ear.

“Hagrid,” said Harry loudly, “give it two weeks and Norbert's going to be as long as your house. Malfoy could go to Dumbledore at any moment.”

“John said he’d deal with Malfoy, though,” Hermione reminded them.

“He hasn’t yet,” Harry said.

Hagrid bit his lip.

“I… I know I can't keep him forever, but I can't jus' dump him, I can't.”

Harry suddenly turned to Ron.

“Charlie,” he said.

“You're losing it, too,” said Ron, “I'm Ron, remember?”

“No… Charlie… your brother, Charlie. In Romania. Studying dragons. We could send Norbert to him. Charlie can take care of him and then put him back in the wild!”

“Brilliant!” said Ron, “How about it, Hagrid?”

And in the end, Hagrid agreed that they could send an owl to Charlie to ask him.

The following week dragged by. Wednesday night found Hermione and Harry sitting alone in the common room, long after everyone else had gone to bed. The clock on the wall had just chimed midnight when the portrait hole burst open. Ron appeared out of nowhere as he pulled off Harry's invisibility cloak. He had been down at Hagrid's hut, helping him feed Norbert, who was now eating dead rats by the crate.

“It bit me!” he said, showing them his hand, which was wrapped in a bloody handkerchief, “I'm not going to be able to hold a quill for a week. I tell you, that dragon's the most horrible animal I've ever met, but the way Hagrid goes on about it, you'd think it was a fluffy little bunny rabbit. When it bit me he told me off for frightening it. And when I left, he was singing it a lullaby.”

There was a tap on the dark window.

“It's Hedwig!” said Harry, hurrying to let her in, “She'll have Charlie's answer!”

The three of them put their heads together to read the note.

Dear Ron,

How are you? Thanks for the letter… I'd be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback, but it won't be easy getting him here. I think the best thing will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn't be seen carrying an illegal dragon.

Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it's still dark.

Send me an answer as soon as possible.

Love,

Charlie

They looked at one another.

“We've got the invisibility cloak, “said Harry, “It shouldn't be too difficult… I think the cloaks big enough to cover two of us and Norbert.”

It was a mark of how bad the last week had been that the other two agreed with him. Anything to get rid of Norbert… and Malfoy.

Fortunately, John’s muggle-magic was very good at healing any and all bites. So, Ron didn’t have to go to Madam Pomfrey as they were afraid to do. They were unsure if she knew dragon bites or not.

**Later…**

“I have finally figured out what to do concerning Malfoy,” John informed the three as they were on their way to Hagrid’s, “You go deal with the you-know-what.”

“What are you going to do?” Hermione asked.

“A simple memory charm,” John said as he back to the castle, “good luck.”

They found Fang, the boarhound, sitting outside with a bandaged tail when they went to tell Hagrid, who opened a window to talk to them.

“I won't let you in,” he puffed, “Norbert's at a tricky stage… nothin' I can't handle.”

When they told him about Charlie's letter, his eyes filled with tears, although that might have been because Norbert had just bitten him on the leg.

“Aargh! It's all right, he only got my boot… jus' playin’… he's only a baby, after all.”

The baby banged its tail on the wall, making the windows rattle. Harry and Hermione walked back to the castle feeling Saturday couldn't come quickly enough.

They would have felt sorry for Hagrid when the time came for him to say good-bye to Norbert if they hadn't been so worried about what they had to do. It was a very dark, cloudy night, and they were a bit late arriving at Hagrid's hut because they'd had to wait for Geeves to get out of their way in the entrance hall, where he'd been playing tennis against the wall. Hagrid had Norbert packed and ready in a large crate.

“He's got lots o' rats an' some brandy fer the journey,” said Hagrid in a muffled voice, “An' I've packed his teddy bear in case he gets lonely.”

From inside the crate came ripping noises that sounded to Harry as though the teddy was having his head torn off.

“Bye-bye, Norbert!” Hagrid sobbed, as Harry and Hermione covered the crate with the invisibility cloak and stepped underneath it themselves, “Mommy will never forget you!”

How they managed to get the crate back up to the castle, they never knew. Midnight ticked nearer as they heaved Norbert up the marble staircase in the entrance hall and along the dark corridors. Up another staircase, then another… even one of Harry's shortcuts didn't make the work much easier.

“Nearly there!” Harry panted as they reached the corridor beneath the tallest tower.

Then a sudden movement ahead of them made them almost drop the crate. Forgetting that they were already invisible, they shrank into the shadows, staring at the dark outlines of two people grappling with each other ten feet away. A lamp flared.

Professor McGonagall, in a tartan bathrobe and a hair net, had Malfoy by the ear.

“Detention!” she shouted, “And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how dare you-”

“You don't understand, Professor. Harry Potter's coming… he's got a dragon!”

“What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies! Come on… I shall see Professor Snape about you, Malfoy!”

The steep spiral staircase up to the top of the tower seemed the easiest thing in the world after that. Not until they'd stepped out into the cold night air did they throw off the cloak, glad to be able to breathe properly again. Hermione did a sort of jig.

“Malfoy's got detention! I could sing!”

“Don't,” Harry advised her.

Chuckling about Malfoy, they waited, Norbert thrashing about in his crate. About ten minutes later, four broomsticks came swooping down out of the darkness.

Charlie's friends were a cheery lot. They showed Harry and Hermione the harness they'd rigged up, so they could suspend Norbert between them. They all helped buckle Norbert safely into it and then Harry and Hermione shook hands with the others and thanked them very much.

At last, Norbert was going... going... gone.

They slipped back down the spiral staircase, their hearts as light as their hands, now that Norbert was off them. No more dragon… Malfoy in detention… what could spoil their happiness?

The answer to that was waiting at the foot of the stairs. As they stepped into the corridor, Filch's face loomed suddenly out of the darkness. He had John by the arm who was doing his best to wrestle free. Filch had a surprisingly strong grip.

“Well, well, well,” he whispered, “we are in trouble.”

They'd left the invisibility cloak on top of the tower.


	8. The Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Harry meets Firenze. John accidentally reveals that he has Malfoy blood in his veins.

Chapter 8: The Forest

 

Things couldn't have been worse.

Filch took them down to Professor McGonagall's study on the first floor, where they sat and waited without saying a word to each other. Hermione was trembling. Excuses, alibis, and wild cover up stories chased each other around Harry's brain, each more feeble than the last. He couldn't see how they were going to get out of trouble this time. They were cornered. How could they have been so stupid as to forget the cloak? There was no reason on earth that Professor McGonagall would accept for their being out of bed and creeping around the school in the dead of night, let alone being up the tallest astronomy tower, which was out-of-bounds except for classes. Add Norbert and the invisibility cloak, and they might as well be packing their bags already.

Had Harry thought that things couldn't have been worse? He was wrong. When Professor McGonagall appeared, she was leading Neville.

“Harry!” Neville burst out, the moment he saw the other two, “I was trying to find you to warn you, I heard Malfoy saying he was going to catch you, he said you had a drag-”

Harry shook his head violently to shut Neville up, but Professor McGonagall had seen. She looked more likely to breathe fire than Norbert as she towered over the three of them.

“I would never have believed it of any of you. Mr. Filch says you were up in the astronomy tower. It's one o'clock in the morning. Explain yourselves.”

It was the first time Hermione had ever failed to answer a teacher's question. She was staring at her slippers, as still as a statue.

“They were sending out a time sensitive message for me,” John tried but Filch twisted his arm causing him to stop as he grunted in pain.

“Shut your mouth,” Filch snarled, “You do nothing but lie.”

“Where was he?” McGonagall asked.

“I found him near the stairs to the 3rd floor corridor,” Filch smirked, “and I caught him, but the slimy worm managed to escape. I had just caught him again when i saw those three walking down from the Astronomy tower. If he had really sent those two degenerates to send a time sensitive letter he would’ve done it himself, now wouldn’t he.”

“What were you doing near the 3rd floor corridor?” McGonagall asked with narrowed eyes.

“Being near restricted areas helps me think,” John said, “the thought of getting caught gets the blood rushing to my head… after the adrenaline pumps that is.”

“Hmm,” McGonagall said.

“But Professor,” Harry began.

“I think I've got a good idea of what's been going on,” said Professor McGonagall interrupting Harry, “It doesn't take a genius to work it out. This has nothing to do with a time sensitive letter. You fed Draco Malfoy some cock-and-bull story about a dragon, trying to get him out of bed and into trouble. I've already caught him. I suppose you think it's funny that Longbottom here heard the story and believed it, too?”

Harry caught Neville's eye and tried to tell him without words that this wasn't true, because Neville was looking stunned and hurt. Poor, blundering Neville… Harry knew what it must have cost him to try and find them in the dark, to warn them.

“I'm disgusted,” said Professor McGonagall, “Five students out of bed in one night! I've never heard of such a thing before! You, Miss Granger, I thought you had more sense. As for you, Mr. Potter, I thought Gryffindor meant more to you than this. All four of you will receive detentions… yes, you too, Mr. Longbottom and Mr. Constantine, nothing gives you the right to walk around school at night, especially these days, it's very dangerous… and fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor. Not even your permission to go on your little jaunts can save you from receiving detention for being out at night, and near the 3rd floor corridor no less. Fifty points will be taken from Ravenclaw as well.”

“Fifty?” Harry gasped… they would lose the lead, the lead he'd won in the last Quidditch match.

“Fifty points each,” said Professor McGonagall, breathing heavily through her long, pointed nose.

“Professor… please,” Harry tried, “You can't…”

“Don't tell me what I can and can't do, Potter. Now get back to bed, all of you. I've never been more ashamed of Gryffindor students. You are a disappointment to your house Constantine. For someone so smart, you have been incredibly stupid this night.”

A hundred and fifty points lost. That put Gryffindor in last place. In one night, they'd ruined any chance Gryffindor had had for the house cup. Harry felt as though the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. How could they ever make up for this?

Harry didn't sleep all night. He could hear Neville sobbing into his pillow for what seemed like hours. Harry couldn't think of anything to say to comfort him. He knew Neville, like himself, was dreading the dawn. What would happen when the rest of Gryffindor found out what they'd done?

At first, Gryffindors passing the giant hourglasses that recorded the house points the next day thought there'd been a mistake. How could they suddenly have a hundred and fifty points fewer than yesterday? And then the story started to spread: Harry Potter, the famous Harry Potter, their hero of two Quidditch matches, had lost them all those points, him and a couple of other stupid first years.

From being one of the most popular and admired people at the school, Harry was suddenly the most hated. Even Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs turned on him, because everyone had been longing to see Slytherin lose the house cup. Everywhere Harry went, people pointed and didn't trouble to lower their voices as they insulted him. Slytherins, on the other hand, clapped as he walked past them, whistling and cheering, “Thanks Potter, we owe you one!”

Only Ravenclaw that didn’t turn on him was John, but he was hated by his fellow Ravenclaws too for losing them fifty points. Even Anne Marie and Ritchie who were his only actual friends in Ravenclaw were disappointed in him. They didn’t entirely abandon John though. Apparently, John had told McGonagall of what Draco was going to try as a way to get Draco off their backs. Especially, since he screwed up a memory charm and just exploded an apple.

Ron was the only Gryffindor that stood by him. Chas too, but he was American. He never really cared about house points or house cups.

“They'll all forget this in a few weeks. Fred and George have lost loads of points in all the time they've been here, and people still like them.”

“They've never lost a hundred and fifty points in one go, though, have they?” said Harry miserably.

“Well… no,” Ron admitted.

It was a bit late to repair the damage, but Harry swore to himself not to meddle in things that weren't his business from now on. He'd had it with sneaking around and spying. He felt so ashamed of himself that he went to Wood and offered to resign from the Quidditch team.

“Resign?” Wood thundered, “"What good'll that do? How are we going to get any points back if we can't win at Quidditch?”

But even Quidditch had lost its fun. The rest of the team wouldn't speak to Harry during practice, and if they had to speak about him, they called him “the Seeker.”

Hermione and Neville were suffering, too. They didn't have as bad a time as Harry, because they weren't as well-known, but nobody would speak to them, either. Hermione had stopped drawing attention to herself in class, keeping her head down and working in silence. Hermione and John seemed to be getting along a lot more often now that they’re both nerd-ish and are hated by their peers.

Harry was almost glad that the exams weren't far away. All the studying he had to do kept his mind off his misery. He, Ron, and Hermione kept to themselves, working late into the night, trying to remember the ingredients in complicated potions, learn charms and spells by heart, memorize the dates of magical discoveries and goblin rebellions…

Then, about a week before the exams were due to start, Harry's new resolution not to interfere in anything that didn't concern him was put to an unexpected test. Walking back from the library on his own one afternoon, he heard somebody whimpering from a classroom up ahead. As he drew closer, he heard Quirrell's voice.

“No… no… not again, please-”

Suddenly, John was there and motioned for Harry to stop moving lest he drew unwanted attention. It sounded as though someone was threatening Quirrell. Harry moved closer.

“All right… all right…” he heard Quirrell sob.

Next second, Quirrell came hurrying out of the classroom straightening his turban. He was pale and looked as though he was about to cry. He strode out of sight; Harry didn't think Quirrell had even noticed him. He waited until Quirrell's footsteps had disappeared, then peered into the classroom. It was empty, but a door stood ajar at the other end. Harry was halfway toward it before he remembered what he'd promised himself about not meddling.

All the same, he'd have gambled twelve Sorcerer's Stones that Snape had just left the room, and from what Harry had just heard, Snape would be walking with a new spring in his step… Quirrell seemed to have given in at last.

Harry went back to the library alongside Constantine, where Hermione was testing Ron on Astronomy. Harry told them what he'd heard.

“Snape's done it, then!” said Ron, “If Quirrell's told him how to break his Anti-Dark Force spell…”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Constantine said as he pulled out his lucky lighter and started flicking it, “If Snape was there, don’t you think we would’ve heard him?”

“You know how quiet Snape talks,” Harry objected, “We weren’t anywhere near the door either!!! What were you doing there anyway?”

“Confession time,” John sighed as he put his lighter away, “The day after your first Quidditch match, I didn’t stop investigating Quirrell even though Snape became a suspect. I’ve been following him with a partner of my own for a while now, and while we haven’t seen any physical evidence of him being an evil mastermind we have heard him whining to himself on countless occasions. It’s just really fortunate that he is oblivious to anything else after he has those whiny conversations.”

Harry snorted in annoyance at John’s persistence. That was when Hermione decided to speak.

“Snape still has to deal with Fluffy, though,” said Hermione.

“Maybe Snape's found out how to get past him without asking Hagrid,” said Ron, looking up at the thousands of books surrounding them, “I bet there's a book somewhere in here telling you how to get past a giant three-headed dog. So what do we do, Harry?”

The light of adventure was kindling again in Ron's eyes, but Hermione answered before Harry could.

“Go to Dumbledore. That's what we should have done ages ago. If we try anything ourselves we'll be thrown out for sure.”

“But we've got no proof!” said Harry, “Quirrell's too scared to back us up. Snape's only got to say he doesn't know how the troll got in at Halloween and that he was nowhere near the third floor… who do you think they'll believe, him or us? It's not exactly a secret we hate him, Dumbledore'll think we made it up to get him sacked. Filch wouldn't help us if his life depended on it, he's too friendly with Snape, and the more students get thrown out, the better, he'll think. And don't forget, we're not supposed to know about the Stone or Fluffy. That'll take a lot of explaining.”

“Harry’s right,” John said, “About not telling the Professors. This is something we have to do ourselves.”

Hermione looked convinced, but Ron didn't.

“If we just do a bit of poking around-”

“No,” said Harry flatly, “We've done enough poking around.”

“Great,” grunted Constantine, “Looks like I have to do this on my own. Should’ve known this’d be the case. For a Gryffindor, you’re not very brave.”

Harry just ignored Constantine as he pulled out a map of Jupiter toward him and started to learn the names of its moons.

“I’ll help,” Ron said, “Just doing schoolwork is so boring.”

The following morning, notes were delivered to Harry, Hermione, Neville, and John at the breakfast table. They were all the same:

_Your detention will take place at eleven o'clock tonight. Meet Mr. Filch in the entrance hall._

Professor McGonagall

Harry had forgotten they still had detentions to do in the furor over the points they'd lost. He half expected Hermione to complain that this was a whole night of studying lost, but she didn't say a word. Like Harry, she felt they deserved what they'd got.

At eleven o'clock that night, they said good-bye to Ron in the common room and went down to the entrance hall with Neville. Filch was already there… and so was Malfoy and John. Harry had also forgotten that Malfoy had gotten a detention, too.

“Follow me,” said Filch, lighting a lamp and leading them outside.

“I bet you'll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won't you, eh?” he said, leering at them, “Oh yes… hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me… It's just a pity they let the old punishments die out… hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days, I've got the chains still in my office, keep 'em well oiled in case they're ever needed… Right, off we go, and don't think of running off, now, it'll be worse for you if you do.”

They marched off across the dark grounds. Neville kept sniffing. Harry wondered what their punishment was going to be. It must be something really horrible, or Filch wouldn't be sounding so delighted.

The moon was bright, but clouds scudding across it kept throwing them into darkness. Ahead, Harry could see the lighted windows of Hagrid's hut. Then they heard a distant shout.

“Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started.”

Harry's heart rose; if they were going to be working with Hagrid it wouldn't be so bad. His relief must have showed in his face, because Filch said, “I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself with that oaf? Well, think again, boy… it's into the forest you're going and I'm much mistaken if you'll all come out in one piece.”

At this, Neville let out a little moan, and Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks.

“The forest?” he repeated, and he didn't sound quite as cool as usual, “We can't go in there at night… there's all sorts of things in there… werewolves, I heard.”

“Quit being such a wuss Draco,” John said rolling his eyes, “As long as I’ve known you, you’ve always been a great bloody coward. I wouldn’t be surprised if your soul got mixed up with a chicken’s when you were born.”

Neville clutched the sleeve of Harry's robe and made a choking noise.

“That's your problem, isn't it?” said Filch to Draco, his voice cracking with glee, “Should've thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble, shouldn't you?”

Hagrid came striding toward them out of the dark, Fang at his heel. He was carrying his large crossbow, and a quiver of arrows hung over his shoulder.

“Abou' time,” he said, “I bin waitin' fer half an hour already. All right, John, Harry, Hermione?”

“You shouldn't be too friendly to them, Hagrid,” said Filch coldly, “they're here to be punished, after all.”

“That's why yer late, is it?” said Hagrid, frowning at Filch, “Bin lecturin' them, eh? 'Snot your place ter do that. Yeh've done yer bit, I'll take over from here.”

“I'll be back at dawn,” said Filch.

“For what's left of them,” he added nastily, and he turned and started back toward the castle, his lamp bobbing away in the darkness.

Malfoy now turned to Hagrid.

“I'm not going in that forest,” he said, and Harry was pleased to hear the note of panic in his voice.

“Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts,” said Hagrid fiercely, “Yeh've done wrong an' now yehve got ter pay fer it.”

“But this is servant stuff, it's not for students to do. I thought we'd be copying lines or something, if my father knew I was doing this, he'd-”

“Tell yeh that's how it is at Hogwarts,” Hagrid growled, “Copyin' lines! What good's that ter anyone? Yeh'll do summat useful or yeh'll get out. If yeh think yer father'd rather you were expelled, then get back off ter the castle an' pack. Go on’.”

Malfoy didn't move. He looked at Hagrid furiously, but then dropped his gaze.

“Right then,” said Hagrid, “now, listen carefully, 'cause it's dangerous what we're gonna do tonight, an' I don' want no one takin' risks. Follow me over here a moment.”

He led them to the very edge of the forest. Holding his lamp up high, he pointed down a narrow, winding earth track that disappeared into the thick black trees. A light breeze lifted their hair as they looked into the forest.

“Look there,” said Hagrid, “see that stuff shinin' on the ground? Silvery stuff? That's unicorn blood. There's a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat. This is the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday. We're gonna try an' find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery.”

“And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?” said Malfoy, unable to keep the fear out of his voice.

“There's nothin' that lives in the forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang,” said Hagrid, “An' keep ter the path. Right, now, we're gonna split inter two parties an' follow the trail in diff'rent directions. There's blood all over the place, it must've bin staggerin' around since last night at least.”

“I want Fang,” said Malfoy quickly, looking at Fang's long teeth.

“All right, but I warn yeh, he's a coward,” said Hagrid, “ So me, Harry, an' Hermione'll go one way an' Draco, Neville, an' Fang'll go the other. Now, if any of us finds the unicorn, we'll send up green sparks, right? Get yer wands out an' practice now - that's it - an' if anyone gets in trouble, send up red sparks, an' we'll all come an' find yeh… so, be careful… let's go.”

“Shall I just sit here waiting, then?” John asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Uh,” Hagrid said when he looked at him ,”No. You’ll go with Draco and Neville.”

“You’re sticking me with my pratt of a cousin?!” John exclaimed. He didn’t even realize that he let slip he had Malfoy blood in his system.

“You’re a Malfoy?” Harry asked shocked.

“That would explain his mean attitude,” Hermione frowned, “But he’s much nicer and actually cares about people.”

“Shite,” John grunted, “With my luck, the whole school’ll know tomorrow. Great. Let’s just get this over with, Draco.”

The forest was black and silent. A little way into it they reached a fork in the earth path, and Harry, Hermione, and Hagrid took the left path while John, Malfoy, Neville, and Fang took the right.

They walked in silence, their eyes on the ground. Every now and then a ray of moonlight through the branches above lit a spot of silver-blue blood on the fallen leaves.

Constantine had to ignore Draco’s incessant griping about their situation while blaming John for it. Neville just whimpered and stayed next to John since he knew John was nicer than Draco. Eventually, John stopped moving because he heard a noise. It sounded like… hooves? Suddenly, a form jumped out of the brush and landed in their path. It looked to be half horse and half man. It was a centaur.

“Bloody hell,” exclaimed John as Draco cried out from the jump scare. Neville just hid behind John as much as he could.

“You shouldn’t be here humans,” said the centaur as he pulled out a bow, “It’s not safe during the day, and even worse at night.”

“I’m pretty sure I can handle myself mate,” John said with a raised eyebrow, “You shoot that at me and I’ll have to retaliate.”

“This arrow is not for you,” the centaur said before he fired up into the sky. They heard the arrow hit something causing it to screech and then, a giant spider fell from somewhere above and landed right in front of them.

“Acromantulas,” John said grimly, “Not the friendliest of beasts.”

“Agreed,” the centaur said as he holstered his bow, “Why are you here?”

“Looking for something,” John explained, “it looks like a horse except it has an swirly ivory horn jutting from its forehead.”

“You’re not looking to kill it are you?” the centaur asked with narrowed eyes.

“No,” John said, “The unicorn we’re looking for is already dead or dying. We came into the forest with Hagrid, but had to split up with him.”

He then gestured to Fang who was sniffing the dead acromantula as evidence of his claim.

“Why didn’t you say so?” the centaur smiled, “Hagrid is friendly to us.”

“Not many like giants or half-giants,” John explained.

“My coward of a cousin being one of them,” added John as he pointed a thumb at Draco.

**Meanwhile, with Harry…**

They walked past a mossy tree stump. Harry could hear running water; there must be a stream somewhere close by. There were still spots of unicorn blood here and there along the winding path.

“You alright, Hermione?” Hagrid whispered, “Don' worry, it can't've gone far if it's this badly hurt, an' then we'll be able ter… GET BEHIND THAT TREE!”

Hagrid seized Harry and Hermione and hoisted them off the path behind a towering oak. He pulled out an arrow and fitted it into his crossbow, raising it, ready to fire. The three of them listened. Something was slithering over dead leaves nearby: it sounded like a cloak trailing along the ground. Hagrid was squinting up the dark path, but after a few seconds, the sound faded away.

“I knew it,” he murmured, “There's summat in here that shouldn' be.”

“A werewolf?” Harry suggested.

“That wasn' no werewolf an' it wasn' no unicorn, neither,” said Hagrid grimly, “Right, follow me, but careful, now.”

They walked more slowly, ears straining for the faintest sound. Suddenly, in a clearing ahead, something definitely moved.

“Who's there?” Hagrid called, “Show yerself… I'm armed!”

And into the clearing came… was it a man, or a horse? To the waist, a man, with red hair and beard, but below that was a horse's gleaming chestnut body with a long, reddish tail. Harry and Hermione's jaws dropped.

“Oh, it's you, Ronan,” said Hagrid in relief, “How are yeh?”

He walked forward and shook the centaur's hand.

“Good evening to you, Hagrid,” said Ronan. He had a deep, sorrowful voice, “Were you going to shoot me?”

“Can't be too careful, Ronan,” said Hagrid, patting his crossbow, “There's summat bad loose in this forest. This is Harry Potter an' Hermione Granger, by the way. Students up at the school. An' this is Ronan, you two. He's a centaur.”

“We'd noticed,” said Hermione faintly.

“Good evening,” said Ronan, “Students, are you? And do you learn much, up at the school?”

“Erm…”

“A bit,” said Hermione timidly.

“A bit. Well, that's something,” Ronan sighed, He flung back his head and stared at the sky, “Mars is bright tonight.”

“Yeah,” said Hagrid, glancing up, too, “Listen, I'm glad we've run inter yeh, Ronan, 'cause there's a unicorn bin hurt… you seen anythin'?”

Ronan didn't answer immediately. He stared unblinkingly upward, then sighed again.

“Always the innocent are the first victims,” he said, “So it has been for ages past, so it is now.”

“Yeah,” said Hagrid, “but have yeh seen anythin', Ronan? Anythin' unusual?”

“Mars is bright tonight,” Ronan repeated, while Hagrid watched him impatiently, “Unusually bright.”

“Yeah, but I was meanin' anythin' unusual a bit nearer home,” said Hagrid, "So yeh haven't noticed anythin' strange?”

Yet again, Ronan took a while to answer. At last, he said, “The forest hides many secrets.”

A movement in the trees behind Ronan made Hagrid raise his bow again, but it was only a second centaur, black-haired and bodied and wilder-looking than Ronan.

“Hullo, Bane,” said Hagrid, “All right?”

“Good evening, Hagrid, I hope you are well?”

“Well enough. Look, I've jus' bin askin' Ronan, you seen anythin' odd in here lately? There's a unicorn bin injured… would yeh know anythin' about it?”

Bane walked over to stand next to Ronan. He looked skyward. “Mars is bright tonight,” he said simply.

“We've heard,” said Hagrid grumpily, “Well, if either of you do see anythin', let me know, won't yeh? We'll be off, then.”

Harry and Hermione followed him out of the clearing, staring over their shoulders at Ronan and Bane until the trees blocked their view.

**Back with John…**

John was irritated that the centaur was as useful as a cup without a bottom, but what should he have expected? Centaurs are very different from humans after all. Different customs, different codes, etc.

“That creature was very useless,” Draco sneered, “All it talked about was someone in the sky called Mars.”

“Mars is a planet you dolt,” John said before he stopped and looked up at Mars.

“Oh great,” Draco said sarcastically, “Now he’s got the Mars disease. Let’s go Fang.”

“Mars is bright tonight,” John said to himself before he made a realization, “Mars shouldn’t be bright tonight at all. Too early.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Draco asked not really caring.

“I don’t know,” John said stumped, “astronomy and astrology aren’t really my things. If centaurs liked humans I’m sure they’d have told me what they were talking about, but they don’t and they didn’t.”

“Enlightening,” Draco said sarcastically as John resumed leading them through the forest. He then stopped just as several acromantulas appeared out of nowhere. John quickly aimed his wand at the sky.

“Periculum!” John yelled. The spell sent some red sparks into the air.

**Back with Harry…**

They walked on through the dense, dark trees. Harry kept looking nervously over his shoulder. He had the nasty feeling they were being watched. He was very glad they had Hagrid and his crossbow with them. They had just passed a bend in the path when Hermione grabbed Hagrid's arm.

“Hagrid! Look! Red sparks, the others are in trouble!”

“You two wait here!” Hagrid shouted, “Stay on the path, I'll come back for yeh!”

They heard him crashing away through the undergrowth and stood looking at each other, very scared, until they couldn't hear anything but the rustling of leaves around them.

“You don't think they've been hurt, do you?” whispered Hermione.

"I don't care if Malfoy has, and John will keep himself and Neville safe. John was probably the one that sent up the red sparks.”

The minutes dragged by. Their ears seemed sharper than usual. Harry's seemed to be picking up every sigh of the wind, every cracking twig. What was going on? Where were the others?

At last, a great crunching noise announced Hagrid's return. Malfoy, Neville, John, and Fang were with him. Hagrid was fuming. Hagrid wasn’t fuming at the students however, as it is pretty easy to get lost in the forest for people who haven't been in there all that often. Apparently, they had accidentally wandered into an area of the forest that was the territory of some Acromantulas.

“We'll be lucky ter catch anythin' now, after yeh sent up some red sparks. Right, we're changin' groups… Neville, you stay with me an' Hermione, Harry and John, you go with Fang an' this idiot. I'm sorry,” Hagrid added in a whisper to Harry, “but he'll have a harder time usin' you as a meat shield, an' we've gotta get this done.”

So Harry set off into the heart of the forest with John, Malfoy and Fang. They walked for nearly half an hour, deeper and deeper into the forest, until the path became almost impossible to follow because the trees were so thick. Harry thought the blood seemed to be getting thicker. There were splashes on the roots of a tree, as though the poor creature had been thrashing around in pain close by. Harry could see a clearing ahead, through the tangled branches of an ancient oak.

“Look…” he murmured, holding out his arm to stop Malfoy.

Something bright white was gleaming on the ground. They inched closer.

It was the unicorn all right, and it was dead. Harry had never seen anything so beautiful and sad. Its long, slender legs were stuck out at odd angles where it had fallen and its mane was spread pearly-white on the dark leaves.

Harry had taken one step toward it when a slithering sound made him freeze where he stood. A bush on the edge of the clearing quivered… Then, out of the shadows, a hooded figure came crawling across the ground like some stalking beast. Harry, John, Malfoy, and Fang stood transfixed. The cloaked figure reached the unicorn, lowered its head over the wound in the animal's side, and began to drink its blood.

“AAAAAAAAAARGH!”

Malfoy let out a terrible scream and bolted… so did Fang. The hooded figure raised its head and looked right at Harry and John… unicorn blood was dribbling down its front. It got to its feet and came swiftly towards Harry… he couldn't move for fear.

“Stay back!” John yelled as he aimed a phillips head screwdriver at the creature, “I’m armed… with a screwdriver!”

“Really?” Harry asked now he was no longer paralyzed with fear.

“I grabbed the wrong item, okay,” John explained, “Also, I couldn’t resist. I heard that said on a tv show.”

Then a pain like Harry had never felt before pierced his head; it was as though his scar was on fire. Half blinded, he staggered backward. He heard hooves behind him, galloping, and something jumped clean over Harry and John, charging at the figure.

The pain in Harry's head was so bad he fell to his knees. It took a minute or two to pass. When he looked up, the figure had gone. A centaur was standing over him, not Ronan or Bane; this one looked younger; he had white-blond hair and a palomino body.

“Are you alright?” said the centaur, pulling Harry to his feet.

“Yes… thank you… what was that?”

The centaur didn't answer. He had astonishingly blue eyes, like pale sapphires. He looked carefully at Harry, his eyes lingering on the scar that stood out, livid, on Harry's forehead.

"You are the Potter boy," he said. "You had better get back to Hagrid. The forest is not safe at this time… especially for you. Same goes for you John Constantine.”

“You know who I am?” Constantine asked shocked.

“The stars tell of your future,” the centaur explained, “You will be remembered for a great many deeds, as much as young Mr. Potter here is.”

“Well, that’s not cryptic at all,” John grumbled.

“Can either of you ride? It will be quicker this way,” the centaur asked.

Both Harry and John nodded.

“My name is Firenze,” he added, as he lowered himself onto his front legs so that Harry and John could clamber onto his back.

There was suddenly a sound of more galloping from the other side of the clearing. Ronan and Bane came bursting through the trees, their flanks heaving and sweaty.

“Firenze!” Bane thundered, “What are you doing? You have humans on your back! Have you no shame? Are you a common mule?”

John was itching to punch something, but he settled with yelling.

“Listen you jackass,” John yelled, “Firenze here offered. If he were a common mule, he’d have harness, a saddle, and reins strapped on him.”

“You shut your mouth human!” Bane snarled.

“Do you realize who these two are?” said Firenze, “This is the Potter boy and John Constantine. The quicker they leave this forest, the better.”

“What have you been telling them?” growled Bane, “Remember, Firenze, we are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens. Have we not read what is to come in the movements of the planets?”

Ronan pawed the ground nervously. “I'm sure Firenze thought he was acting for the best,” he said in his gloomy voice.

Bane kicked his back legs in anger.

“For the best! What is that to do with us? Centaurs are concerned with what has been foretold! It is not our business to run around like donkeys after stray humans in our forest!”

Firenze suddenly reared on to his hind legs in anger, so that Harry had to grab his shoulders to stay on. John had to grab Harry as well… which was very awkward.

“Do you not see that unicorn?” Firenze bellowed at Bane, “Do you not understand why it was killed? Or have the planets not let you in on that secret? I set myself against what is lurking in this forest, Bane, yes, with humans alongside me if I must.”

And Firenze whisked around; with Harry and John clutching on as best they could, they plunged off into the trees, leaving Ronan and Bane behind them.

Harry didn't have a clue what was going on.

“Why's Bane so angry?” he asked, “What was that thing you saved me from, anyway?”

Firenze slowed to a walk, warned Harry and John to keep their heads bowed in case of low-hanging branches, but did not answer Harry's question. They made their way through the trees in silence for so long that Harry thought Firenze didn't want to talk to him anymore. They were passing through a particularly dense patch of trees, however, when Firenze suddenly stopped.

“Harry Potter, do you know what unicorn blood is used for?”

“No,” said Harry, startled by the odd question, “We've only used the horn and tail hair in Potions.”

“That is because it is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn,” said Firenze, “Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenseless to save yourself, and you will have but a half-life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches your lips.”

Harry stared at the back of Firenze's head, which was dappled silver in the moonlight.

“But who'd be that desperate?” he wondered aloud, “If you're going to be cursed forever, deaths better, isn't it?”

“It is,” Firenze agreed, “unless all you need is to stay alive long enough to drink something else… something that will bring you back to full strength and power… something that will mean you can never die. Mr. Potter, do you know what is hidden in the school at this very moment?”

“The Sorcerer's Stone! Of course… the Elixir of Life! But I don't understand who-”

“Can you think of nobody who has waited many years to return to power, who has clung to life, awaiting their chance?”

It was as though an iron fist had clenched suddenly around Harry's heart. Over the rustling of the trees, he seemed to hear once more what Hagrid had told him on the night they had met: “Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die.”

“You-know-who,” John said grimly stopping Harry from talking.

Before Harry could speak he heard the sound of feet running breaking twigs in the process.

“Harry! John, are you all right?”

Hermione was running toward them down the path, Hagrid puffing along behind her.

“We’re fine, said Harry, hardly knowing what he was saying, “The unicorn's dead, Hagrid, it's in that clearing back there.”

“This is where I leave you two,” Firenze murmured as Hagrid hurried off to examine the unicorn, “You are both safe now.”

Harry and John slid off his back.

“Good luck, Harry Potter,” said Firenze, “The planets have been read wrongly before now, even by centaurs. I hope this is one of those times.”

He turned and cantered back into the depths of the forest, leaving Harry shivering behind him.


	9. The Sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cloaked figure is revealed, Harry, Hermione, and Ron enter the trap door, Neville gets a full-body bind spell shot at him

Chapter 9: The Sister

 

Ron had fallen asleep in the dark common room, waiting for them to return. He shouted something about Quidditch fouls when Harry roughly shook him awake. In a matter of seconds, though, he was wide-eyed as Harry and John began to tell him and Hermione what had happened in the forest.

Harry couldn't sit down. He paced up and down in front of the fire. He was still shaking.

“Snape wants the stone for Voldemort… and Voldemort's waiting in the forest… and all this time we thought Snape just wanted to get rich…”

“Stop saying the name!” said Ron in a terrified whisper, as if he thought Voldemort could hear them.

Harry wasn't listening.

“Firenze saved me, but he shouldn't have done so… Bane was furious… he was talking about interfering with what the planets say is going to happen… They must show that Voldemort's coming back… Bane thinks Firenze should have let Voldemort kill me… I suppose that's written in the stars as well.”

“Will you stop saying the name!” Ron hissed.

“So all I've got to wait for now is Snape to steal the Stone,” Harry went on feverishly, “then Voldemort will be able to come and finish me off… Well, I suppose Bane'll be happy.”

Hermione looked very frightened, but she had a word of comfort.

“Harry, everyone says Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of. With Dumbledore around, You-Know-Who won't touch you. Anyway, who says the centaurs are right? It sounds like fortune-telling to me, and Professor McGonagall says that's a very imprecise branch of magic.”

“Aye,” John said in agreement finally speaking up, “Hermione’s right. Fortune telling is never accurate. Could mean that you die tonight or when you’re an old man. Also, Dumbledore is an extremely powerful wizard. Nobody would dare try anything while he’s around.”

The sky had turned light before they stopped talking. They went to bed exhausted, their throats sore. But the night's surprises weren't over.

When Harry pulled back his sheets, he found his invisibility cloak folded neatly underneath them. There was a note pinned to it:

Just in case.

**Later on in the year…**

In years to come, Harry would never quite remember how he had managed to get through his exams when he half expected Voldemort to come bursting through the door at any moment. Yet the days crept by, and there could be no doubt that Fluffy was still alive and well behind the locked door.

It was sweltering hot, especially in the large classroom where they did their written papers. They had been given special, new quills for the exams, which had been bewitched with an AntiCheating spell.

They had practical exams as well. Professor Flitwick called them one by one into his class to see if they could make a pineapple tapdance across a desk. Professor McGonagall watched them turn a mouse into a snuffbox… points were given for how pretty the snuffbox was, but taken away if it had whiskers. Snape made them all nervous, breathing down their necks while they tried to remember how to make a Forgetfulness potion.

Harry did the best he could, trying to ignore the stabbing pains in his forehead, which had been bothering him ever since his trip into the forest. Neville thought Harry had a bad case of exam nerves because Harry couldn't sleep, but the truth was that Harry kept being woken by his old nightmare, except that it was now worse than ever because there was a hooded figure dripping blood in it. Maybe it was because they hadn't seen what Harry had seen in the forest, or because they didn't have scars burning on their foreheads, but Ron and Hermione didn't seem as worried about the Stone as Harry. The idea of Voldemort certainly scared them, but he didn't keep visiting them in dreams, and they were so busy with their studying they didn't have much time to fret about what Snape or anyone else might be up to. He hadn’t spoken to John in a while, because John said that he was too busy to hang with Potter and co. Harry suspected that John lied about what he was doing, because Harry refused to believe that Quirrell was the one behind every evil deed that had been done that year.

Their very last exam was History of Magic. One hour of answering questions about batty old wizards who'd invented selfstirring cauldrons and they'd be free, free for a whole wonderful week until their exam results came out. When the ghost of Professor Binns told them to put down their quills and roll up their parchment, Harry couldn't help cheering with the rest.

“That was far easier than I thought it would be,” said Hermione as they joined the crowds flocking out onto the sunny grounds, “I needn't have learned about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager.”

Hermione always liked to go through their exam papers afterward, but Ron said this made him feel ill, so they wandered down to the lake and flopped under a tree. The Weasley twins and Lee Jordan were tickling the tentacles of a giant squid, which was basking in the warm shallows. “No more studying,” Ron sighed happily, stretching out on the grass, “You could look more cheerful, Harry, we've got a week before we find out how badly we've done, there's no need to worry yet.”

Harry was rubbing his forehead.

“I wish I knew what this means!” he burst out angrily, “My scar keeps hurting… it's happened before, but never as often as this.”

“It’s a warning,” said a familiar Liverpudlian voice, “It means that danger’s coming.”

They turned to see John there casually flicking his lucky lighter open and closed.

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.

“That scar was giving to Potter the day that you-know-who tried to kill him,” John explained, “It’s a curse scar, and whenever it hurts it means that you-know-who is nearby. The stronger it hurts, the closer the danger. If I were you, I’d keep my head on a swivel.”

That made Harry even more nervous which Ron noticed, but Ron was too hot to get worked up.

“Harry, relax, Hermione's right, the Stone's safe as long as Dumbledore's around. Anyway, we've never had any proof Snape found out how to get past Fluffy. He nearly had his leg ripped off once, he's not going to try it again in a hurry. And Neville will play Quidditch for England before Hagrid lets Dumbledore down.”

Harry nodded, but he couldn't shake off a lurking feeling that there was something he'd forgotten to do, something important. When he tried to explain this, Hermione said, “That's just the exams. I woke up last night and was halfway through my Transfiguration notes before I remembered we'd done that one.”

Harry was quite sure the unsettled feeling didn't have anything to do with work, though. He watched an owl flutter toward the school across the bright blue sky, a note clamped in its mouth. Hagrid was the only one who ever sent him letters. Hagrid would never betray Dumbledore. Hagrid would never tell anyone how to get past Fluffy… never… but-

Harry suddenly jumped to his feet.

“Where're you going?” asked Ron sleepily.

“I've just thought of something,” said Harry. He had turned white, “We've got to go and see Hagrid, now.”

John then came to the same realization and he hurried after Harry and Hermione with Ron reluctantly following behind.

“Why?” panted Hermione, hurrying to keep up.

“Don't you think it's a bit odd,” said Harry, scrambling up the grassy slope, “that what Hagrid wants more than anything else is a dragon, and a stranger turns up who just happens to have an egg in his pocket? How many people wander around with dragon eggs if it's against wizard law? Lucky they found Hagrid, don't you think? Why didn't I see it before?”

“What are you talking about?” said Ron, but Harry, sprinting across the grounds toward the forest, didn't answer.

“The guy who gave Hagrid the dragon egg is also the same wanker trying to steal the stone,” John explained just before he sprinted after Harry.

Hagrid was sitting in an armchair outside his house; his trousers and sleeves were rolled up, and he was shelling peas into a large bowl.

“Hullo,” he said, smiling, “Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?”

“Yes, please,” said Ron, but Harry cut him off.

“No, we're in a hurry. Hagrid, I've got to ask you something. You know that night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing cards with look like?”

“Dunno,” said Hagrid casually, “he wouldn' take his cloak off.”

He saw the four of them look stunned and raised his eyebrows.

“It's not that unusual, yeh get a lot o' funny folk in the Hog's Head… that's the pub down in the village. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn' he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up.”

Harry sank down next to the bowl of peas, “What did you talk to him about, Hagrid? Did you mention Hogwarts at all?”

“Mighta come up,” said Hagrid, frowning as he tried to remember, “Yeah… he asked what I did, an' I told him I was gamekeeper here… He asked a bit about the sorta creatures I took after… so I told him… an' I said what I'd always really wanted was a dragon… an' then… I can' remember too well, 'cause he kept buyin' me drinks… Let's see… yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg an' we could play cards fer it if I wanted… but he had ter be sure I could handle it, he didn' want it ter go ter any old home… So I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy…”

“And did he… did he seem interested in Fluffy?” Harry asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

“Well… yeah… how many three-headed dogs d'yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy's a piece o' cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus' play him a bit o' music an' he'll go straight off ter sleep-”

Hagrid suddenly looked horrified.

“I shouldn'ta told yeh that!” he blurted out, “Forget I said it! Hey… where're yeh goin'?”

John, Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn't speak to each other at all until they came to a halt in the entrance hall, which seemed very cold and gloomy after the grounds.

“We've got to go to Dumbledore,” said Harry, “Hagrid told that stranger how to get past Fluffy, and it was either Snape or Voldemort under that cloak… it must've been easy, once he'd got Hagrid drunk. I just hope Dumbledore believes us. Firenze might back us up if Bane doesn't stop him. Where's Dumbledore's office?”

“No idea,” John replied, “May have gone to the Ministry with him, but I never saw his office.”

They looked around, as if hoping to see a sign pointing them in the right direction. They had never been told where Dumbledore lived, nor did they know anyone who had been sent to see him.

“We'll just have to-” Harry began, but a voice suddenly rang across the hall.

“What are you three doing inside?”

It was Professor McGonagall, carrying a large pile of books.

“We want to see Professor Dumbledore,” said Hermione, rather bravely, Harry and Ron thought. John didn’t think it was all that brave, as Hermione was used to telling the truth and felt relieved she could do so now.

“See Professor Dumbledore?” Professor McGonagall repeated, as though this was a very fishy thing to want to do, “Why?”

Harry swallowed… now what?

“I believe that there’s a demon possessing one of the teachers,” John said half lying, “and said demon is trying to steal something from the school that could give him a physical form once more.”

“A demon,” Professor McGonagall said skeptically, “seriously? You may be a demonologist, but there are no such things as demons.”

“My sister was possessed by one,” John said darkly, “so you go ahead and try telling me that demons don’t exist.”

That made Professor McGonagall’s eyes widen, and then just as quickly she composed herself.

“Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago,” she said, “He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew off for London at once.”

“He's gone?” said Harry frantically, “Now?”

“Professor Dumbledore is a very great wizard, Potter, he has many demands on his time-”

“But this is important.”

“I do not doubt that,” Professor McGonagall allowed, “But not many believe that demons actually exist, and Professor Dumbledore can’t actually ignore the ministry just on Mr. Constantine’s belief.”

Harry was about to speak again, but John interrupted him.

“Please do forward the message,” John said as he began walking off.

“I will,” Professor McGonagall said, “You three need to follow Mr. Constantine’s example.”

She too took that moment to continue on her way.

“Why did you stop me from talking?” Harry demanded John.

“You were going to reveal that we know about the stone,” John said, “and revealing your hand is never good. You do know the saying ‘Knowledge is power’ right?”

“I do,” Hermione said, “You’re saying that if we reveal that we know about the stone, there is a chance that the thief will find that out and prepare?”

“And the prize goes to the muggle-born,” John said.

“It's tonight,” said Harry changing the topic, once he was sure Professor McGonagall was out of earshot, “Snape's going through the trapdoor tonight. He's found out everything he needs, and now he's got Dumbledore out of the way. He sent that note, I bet the Ministry of Magic will get a real shock when Dumbledore turns up.”

“But what can we-”

Hermione gasped. Harry and Ron wheeled round. John slowly followed suit.

Snape was standing there.

“Good afternoon,” he said smoothly.

They stared at him.

“You shouldn't be inside on a day like this,” he said, with an odd, twisted smile.

“We were-” Harry began, without any idea what he was going to say.

“Just on our way out,” John finished quickly.

“You want to be more careful,” said Snape, “Hanging around like this, people will think you're up to something. And Gryffindor really can't afford to lose any more points, can it?”

Harry flushed. They turned to go outside, but Snape called them back.

“Be warned, Potter… any more nighttime wanderings and I will personally make sure you are expelled. Good day to you.”

He strode off in the direction of the staffroom.

Out on the stone steps, Harry turned to the others.

“Right, here's what we've got to do,” he whispered urgently, “One of us has got to keep an eye on Snape… wait outside the staff room and follow him if he leaves it. Hermione, you'd better do that.”

“Why me?”

“It's obvious,” said Ron, “You can pretend to be waiting for Professor Flitwick, you know.” He put on a high voice, “‘Oh Professor Flitwick, I'm so worried, I think I got question fourteen b wrong…’”

“Oh, shut up,” said Hermione, but she agreed to go and watch out for Snape.

“And we'd better stay outside the third-floor corridor,” Harry told Ron and John, “Come on.”

But that part of the plan didn't work. No sooner had they reached the door separating Fluffy from the rest of the school than Professor McGonagall turned up again and this time, she lost her temper. Apparently, Professor McGonagall had taken John’s half-truth seriously. She had decided to check on the 3rd floor corridor to see if everything was the way it was supposed to.

“I suppose you think you're harder to get past than a pack of enchantments!” she stormed, “Enough of this nonsense! If I hear you've come anywhere near here again, I'll take another fifty points from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw! Yes, Weasley, from my own house!”

Harry, John, and Ron went back to the Gryffindor common room, Harry had just said, “At least Hermione's on Snape's tail,” when the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open and Hermione came in.

“I'm sorry, Harry!” she wailed, “Snape came out and asked me what I was doing, so I said I was waiting for Flitwick, and Snape went to get him, and I've only just got away, I don't know where Snape went.”

“Well, that's it then, isn't it?” Harry said.

The other three stared at him. He was pale and his eyes were glittering.

“You're mad!” said Ron.

“You can't!” said Hermione, “After what McGonagall and Snape have said? You'll be expelled!”

“SO WHAT!” Harry shouted, “Don't you understand? If Snape gets hold of the Stone, Voldemort's coming back! Haven't you heard what it was like when he was trying to take over? There won't be any Hogwarts to get expelled from! He'll flatten it, or turn it into a school for the Dark Arts! Losing points doesn't matter anymore, can't you see? D'you think he'll leave you and your families alone if Gryffindor wins the house cup? If I get caught before I can get to the Stone, well, I'll have to go back to the Dursleys and wait for Voldemort to find me there, it's only dying a bit later than I would have, because I'm never going over to the Dark Side! I'm going through that trapdoor tonight and nothing you two say is going to stop me! Voldemort killed my parents, remember?”

“Welcome back to the fold mate,” John said with a grin.

He glared at Hermione and Ron.

“You're right Harry,” said Hermione in a small voice.

“I'll use the invisibility cloak,” said Harry, “It's just lucky I got it back.”

“But will it cover all four of us?” said Ron.

“All… all four of us?”

“Oh, come off it, you don't think we'd let you go alone?”

“Of course not,” said Hermione briskly, “How do you think you'd get to the Stone without us? I'd better go and look through my books, there might be something useful…”

“But if we get caught, you two will be expelled, too.”

“Not if I can help it,” said Hermione grimly, “Flitwick told me in secret that I got a hundred and twelve percent on his exam. They're not throwing me out after that.”

“All the teachers except for Snape said the same to me,” John added, “So I’m in the clear.”

After dinner the three of them sat nervously apart in the common room. Nobody bothered them; none of the Gryffindors had anything to say to Harry any more, after all. This was the first night he hadn't been upset by it. Hermione was skimming through all her notes, hoping to come across one of the enchantments they were about to try to break. Harry and Ron didn't talk much. Both of them were thinking about what they were about to do.

John also did the same, but in his own common room. He was currently preparing to tell Ritchie and Anne about what he was going to do that night.

“I really love my sleep,” Ritchie said, “So please just spit it out.”

Anne just stared at John with narrowed eyes and her arms crossed as she tapped her finger on her arm.

“I’m going to up to the 3rd floor corridor,” John said finally, “Quirrell is going after whatever is being guarded by the 3-headed dog tonight. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I have to stop him. Otherwise, you-know-who will come back.”

“You need to tell the teachers!” Ritchie exclaimed.

“Tried that,” John said, “didn’t work.”

“I’m coming with you,” Anne spoke up.

“You do know that there is a high probability of getting expelled right?” John asked with a raised eyebrow.

“You’ll need all the help you can get,” Anne reasoned.

“Very well then,” John said, “then, we best get a move on.”

**Back with Harry…**

Slowly, the room emptied as people drifted off to bed.

“Better get the cloak,” Ron muttered, as Lee Jordan finally left, stretching and yawning. Harry ran upstairs to their dark dormitory. He putted out the cloak and then his eyes fell on the flute Hagrid had given him for Christmas. He pocketed it to use on Fluffy… he didn't feel much like singing.

“We'd better put the cloak on here, and make sure it covers all four of us… if Filch spots one of our feet wandering along on its own-”

“What are you doing?” said a voice from the corner of the room. Neville appeared from behind an armchair, clutching Trevor the toad, who looked as though he'd been making another bid for freedom.

“Nothing, Neville, nothing,” said Harry, hurriedly putting the cloak behind his back.

Suddenly, two people flew out of the fireplace which had green flame flaring up before it simmered down into a normal orange color.

“Someday I’m going to get the hang of travel by floo powder,” John muttered to himself after he stood back up. Tonight, he decided to wear the outfit he boarded the train in. Anne Marie now wore blue jeans, and a pink t-shirt.

“Who’s she?” Hermione asked as she narrowed her eyes at Anne.

“Anne Marie meet Hermione,” John introduced quickly, “Hermione meet Anne Marie. Can we go now?”

At that sentence Neville realized what they were going to do.

“You're going out again,” he said.

“No, no, no,” said Hermione, “No, we're not. Why don't you go to bed, Neville?”

“Then why are they here?” Neville demanded as he gestured at John and Anne, “I may be horrid at magic spells, but I’m not an idiot.”

Harry looked at the grandfather clock by the door. They couldn't afford to waste any more time, Snape might even now be playing Fluffy to sleep.

“You can't go out,” continued Neville, “you'll be caught again. Gryffindor will be in even more trouble.”

“You don't understand,” said Harry, “this is important.”

But Neville was clearly steeling himself to do something desperate.

“I won't let you do it,” he said, hurrying to stand in front of the portrait hole, “I'll… I'll fight you!”

“Neville,” Ron exploded, “get away from that hole and don't be an idiot…”

“Don't you call me an idiot!” said Neville, “I don't think you should be breaking any more rules! And you were the one who told me to stand up to people!”

“Yes, but not to us,” said Ron in exasperation, “Neville, you don't know what you're doing.”

He took a step forward and Neville dropped Trevor the toad, who leapt out of sight.

“Go on then, try and hit me!” said Neville, raising his fists, “I'm ready!”

Just as Harry turned to Hermione, John stepped up and aimed his wand at Neville.

“I would say I’m sorry,” John said, “But I’m not. Petrificus Totalus!”

Neville's arms snapped to his sides. His legs sprang together. His whole body rigid, he swayed where he stood and then fell flat on his face, stiff as a board.

Hermione ran to turn him over. Neville's jaws were jammed together so he couldn't speak. Only his eyes were moving, looking at them in horror.

“What've you done to him?” Harry whispered.

“It's the full Body-Bind,” said Hermione miserably even though she wasn’t the one who did it, “Oh, Neville, I'm so sorry.”

“We had to, Neville, no time to explain,” said Harry.

“You'll understand later, Neville,” said Ron as they stepped over him and pulled on the invisibility cloak.

John just walked on top of Neville as he walked up to the trio hidden by the cloak. Anne gave an apologetic smile as she stepped over Neville.

“Since all five of us won’t fit under your cloak I brought something of my own,” John explained as he pulled out his special glasses, “we’ll follow you three.”

He put on his glasses so he could see the trio, and then pulled out two necklace like devices. He put one on himself, and the other on Anne.

“We’re not invisible,” Anne said confused as she looked at herself and John.

“No,” John explained, “We’re unnoticeable. As long as we’re quiet and people don’t bump into us, they won’t see us. I enchanted these myself. Saw something like it on a show at one point.”

But leaving Neville lying motionless on the floor didn't feel like a very good omen. In their nervous state, every statue's shadow looked like Filch, every distant breath of wind sounded like Peeves swooping down on them. At the foot of the first set of stairs, they spotted Mrs. Norris skulking near the top.

“Oh, let's kick her, just this once,” Ron whispered in Harry's ear, but Harry shook his head. As they climbed carefully around her, Mrs. Norris turned her lamplike eyes on them, but didn't do anything. John through a thing of catnip which immediately caught her attention. John and Anne hurried to follow the trio as Mrs. Norris rubbed herself in the catnip completely oblivious to everything else.

They didn't meet anyone else until they reached the staircase up to the third floor. Geeves was bobbing halfway up, loosening the carpet so that people would trip.

“Who's there?” he said suddenly as they climbed toward him. He narrowed his wicked black eyes. “Know you're there, even if I can't see you. Are you ghoulie or ghostie or wee student beastie?”

He rose up in the air and floated there, squinting at them.

“Should call Filch, I should, if something's a-creeping around unseen.”

All five of them just stood their not knowing what to do, till Harry had an idea.

“Geeves,” he said, in a hoarse whisper, “the Bloody Baron has his own reasons for being invisible.”

Geeves almost fell out of the air in shock. He caught himself in time and hovered about a foot off the stairs.

“So sorry, your bloodiness, Mr. Baron, Sir,” he said greasily, “My mistake, my mistake… I didn't see you… of course I didn't, you're invisible… forgive old Geevsie his little joke, sir.”

“I have business here, Geeves,” croaked Harry, “Stay away from this place tonight.”

“I will, sir, I most certainly will,” said Geeves, rising up in the air again, “Hope your business goes well, Baron, I'll not bother you.”

And he scooted off.

“Brilliant, Harry!” whispered Ron.

A few seconds later, they were there, outside the third-floor corridor… and the door was already ajar.

“Well, there you are,” Harry said quietly, “Snape's already got past Fluffy.”

Before John could take step, he hard some other footsteps nearby. He looked down and saw Felix Faust looking around nervously. John also noticed that he had something in his hands. John was extremely interested in finding out what Faust was up to, but getting to the stone first was the priority.

Seeing the open door somehow seemed to impress upon all three of them what was facing them. Underneath the cloak, Harry turned to the other four.

“If you want to go back, I won't blame you,” he said, “You can take the cloak, I won't need it now.”

“Don't be stupid,” said Ron.

“We're coming,” said Hermione.

Harry nodded once and pushed the door open. As the door creaked, low, rumbling growls met their ears. All three of the dog's noses sniffed madly in their direction, even though it couldn't see them.

“What's that at its feet?” Hermione whispered.

“Looks like a harp,” said Ron, “Snape must have left it there.”

“Doubt it’s enchantment will last long,” John remarked, “I hope someone brought a musical instrument. Otherwise, this trip will end very quick and very bloody.”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, “I have something. Hagrid got it for me for Christmas. Well, here goes.”

He put Hagrid's flute to his lips and blew. It wasn't really a tune, but from the first note the beast's eyes began to droop. Harry hardly drew breath. Slowly, the dog's growls ceased… it tottered on its paws and fell to its knees, then it slumped to the ground, fast asleep.

“Keep playing,” Ron warned Harry as they slipped out of the cloak and crept toward the trapdoor. They could feel the dog's hot, smelly breath as they approached the giant heads.

“I think we'll be able to pull the door open,” said Ron, peering over the dog's back, “Want to go first, Hermione?”

“No, I don't!”

“I’ll do it,” John said as he stepped carefully over the dog's legs. He bent and pulled the ring of the trapdoor, which swung up and open.

“What can you see?” Hermione said anxiously.

“Nothing… just black… there's no way of climbing down, we'll just have to drop.”

Harry, who was still playing the flute, waved at Anne to get her attention and pointed at himself. John saw that however, and disagreed.

“Not a good idea mate,” John said, “If that music stops for however long it takes to give it to the next person, the beast will probably wake. In that case, I’ll go first.”

However, Harry was too stubborn to follow that logic. He handed the flute over to Anne who quickly began playing it with disgust on her face. In the few seconds' silence, the dog growled and twitched, but the moment Hermione began to play, it fell back into its deep sleep.

Harry climbed over it and looked down through the trapdoor. There was no sign of the bottom.

He lowered himself through the hole until he was hanging on by his fingertips. Then he looked up at Ron and said, “If anything happens to me, don't follow. Go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to Dumbledore, right?”

"Right," said Ron.

“See you in a minute, I hope”

And Harry let go. Cold, damp air rushed past him as he fell down, down, down and… FLUMP. With a funny, muffled sort of thump he landed on something soft. He sat up and felt around, his eyes not used to the gloom. It felt as though he was sitting on some sort of plant.

“It's okay!” he called up to the light the size of a postage stamp, which was the open trapdoor, “it's a soft landing, you can jump!”

Ron followed right away. He landed, sprawled next to Harry.

“Anne and I will go send that owl,” John sighed, “Just in case you don’t make it.”

“Okay,” Hermione said.

“Good luck,” John said to Hermione.

As soon as Hermione jumped in, John and Anne slowly backed out of the 3rd corridor without stopping the music. As soon as they had exited the door, Anne stopped playing and they ran down the steps.

“Now what?” Anne asked.

“We go find Felix Faust,” John said, “He was definitely up to something.”

“What about the letter?” Anne asked.

“Right,” John said, “We split up. You do the letter, and I’ll tail Felix.”

Anne was reluctant to split up, but she agreed nonetheless.

**With Harry…**

The distant music stopped. There was a loud bark from the dog, but Hermione had already jumped. She landed on Harry's other side. They had already lost two members of the team, but since those two would be sending the letter they had some hope.

“We must be miles under the school,” she said.

“Lucky this plant thing's here, really,” said Ron.

“Lucky!” shrieked Hermione, “Look at you both!”

She leapt up and struggled toward a damp wall. She had to struggle because the moment she had landed, the plant had started to twist snakelike tendrils around her ankles. As for Harry and Ron, their legs had already been bound tightly in long creepers without their noticing.

Hermione had managed to free herself before the plant got a firm grip on her. Now she watched in horror as the two boys fought to pull the plant off them, but the more they strained against it, the tighter and faster the plant wound around them.

“Stop moving!” Hermione ordered them, “I know what this is… it's Devil's Snare!”

“Oh, I'm so glad we know what it's called, that's a great help,” snarled Ron, leaning back, trying to stop the plant from curling around his neck.

“Shut up, I'm trying to remember how to kill it!” said Hermione.

“Well, hurry up, I can't breathe!” Harry gasped, wrestling with it as it curled around his chest.

“Devil's Snare, Devil's Snare… what did Professor Sprout say? It likes the dark and the damp-”

“So light a fire!” Harry choked.

“Yes… of course… but there's no wood!” Hermione cried, wringing her hands.

“HAVE YOU GONE MAD?” Ron bellowed, “ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?”

“Oh, right!” said Hermione, and she whipped out her wand, waved it, muttered something, and sent a jet of the same bluebell flames she had used on Snape at the plant. In a matter of seconds, the two boys felt it loosening its grip as it cringed away from the light and warmth. Wriggling and flailing, it unraveled itself from their bodies, and they were able to pull free.

“Lucky you pay attention in Herbology, Hermione,” said Harry as he joined her by the wall, wiping sweat off his face.

“Yeah," said Ron, “and lucky Harry doesn't lose his head in a crisis… 'there's no wood,' honestly.”

“This way,” said Harry, pointing down a stone passageway, which was the only way forward.

**With John…**

Anne and John had separated once they reached a certain point in the castle after John heard Felix muttering to himself somewhere down a hallway. John was currently walking as slowly and quietly as possible so he could spy and eavesdrop on Felix. Eventually, he reached a point where he could do just that.

“You failed me Felix,” said the icy voice of the cloaked figure from before.

“But mistress,” Felix begged, “It wasn’t my fault! I followed your orders to the letter!”

Felix was then slapped… hard. He ended up sprawled on the floor crying his eyes red.

“You know full well that I don’t do second chances,” snarled the voice, “now leave my presence at once or I’ll punish you in the likes you’ve never been punished before!”

John heard and saw Felix scramble to his feet before running as fast he could away from the figure.

“I know you’re there,” the cloaked figure said as it looked straight at John, “No use hiding from me John. I’ll always be able to find you. You may as well come out.”

John slowly walked out of the shadows and stared at the cloaked figure with his hands in his pockets. He had one hand wrapped around his wand.

“Who are you?” John demanded, “And why did you have that prat spy on me?”

“I wouldn’t expect you to recognize my voice,” the figure said, “You were only a baby when we first met.”

The figure then removed the hood revealing that the cloaked figure was… his sister. This whole time it was his sister.

“You,” John gasped as he stumbled back a step.

“Yes me,” his sister sneered, “I have been watching you your entire life. Not always in person of course, but I was always there. I hated you for so long, because I blamed you for mom’s death. However, you were just a child. There is no way it could be your fault.”

“Why did you have Faust spy on me?” John asked again after he steeled himself.

“I needed to know if I could trust you,” his sister sighed, “and I needed to know if you have what it takes.”

She then grinned evilly.

“You definitely have what it takes,” she said.

“What are you-” John began.

“You used the cruciatus curse on poor Felix,” his sister said with a mock pout, “You scarred him so bad he became useless to me, I had to use a memory charm to make him forget the experience.”

“The wanker didn’t leave me a choice,” John said as he glared at his sister, “What do you want with me?”

“I want you to join me brother of mine,” his sister said as she walked towards him, “together, we can rule the world. We can surpass Voldemort himself, if we work together.”

“You-know-who’s dead,” John said dryly, “I’d say that pretty much everyone has surpassed him at this point.”

“Well,” his sister said as she bit her lip, “Not exactly.”

“What do you mean?” John asked with narrowed eyes.

“I found his spirit,” his sister grinned, “and I turned his attention to the Sorcerer’s Stone. Once he comes back, you and I can both kill him and become the new Dark Lords.”

“Why did you do all this?” John asked.

“Why?” his sister said, “so we can have the relationship we never got to have. I want us to be a family again… excluding that drunk of a father we have.”

“As much as I’d love for that to happen,” John said sadly, “I can’t join you. I have no desire to become a dark wizard. I’ll do whatever it takes to reach my goals, yes, but I will never join the dark side. I’ll happily stay in the grey area.”

His sister looked at him with a hurt expression in her eyes before she backed up.

“You made the wrong choice,” his sister said sadly, “Next time we meet… I will have to kill you.”

She then spun on the spot and vanished with a pop.

**Meanwhile, with Harry…**

All they could hear apart from their footsteps was the gentle drip of water trickling down the walls. The passageway sloped downward, and Harry was reminded of Gringotts. With an unpleasant jolt of the heart, he remembered the dragons said to be guarding vaults in the wizards' bank. If they met a dragon, a fully-grown dragon… Norbert had been bad enough…

“Can you hear something?” Ron whispered.

Harry listened. A soft rustling and clinking seemed to be coming from up ahead.

“Do you think it's a ghost?”

“I don't know… sounds like wings to me.”

“There's light ahead… I can see something moving.”


	10. Year's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is concluded, but the ending is only the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i will do Chamber of Secrets eventually, but not yet. I'm going to keep each story spaced apart. besides, i want to work on something else for a while.

Chapter 10: Year's End

 

They reached the end of the passageway and saw before them a brilliantly lit chamber, its ceiling arching high above them. It was full of small, jewel-bright birds, fluttering and tumbling all around the room. On the opposite side of the chamber was a heavy wooden door.

“Do you think they'll attack us if we cross the room?” said Ron.

“Probably,” said Harry, “They don't look very vicious, but I suppose if they all swooped down at once… well, there's no other choice… I'll run.”

He took a deep breath, covered his face with his arms, and sprinted across the room. He expected to feel sharp beaks and claws tearing at him any second, but nothing happened. He reached the door untouched. He pulled the handle, but it was locked.

The other two followed him. They tugged and heaved at the door, but it wouldn't budge, not even when Hermione tried her Alohomora charm.

“Now what?” said Ron.

“These birds… they can't be here just for decoration,” said Hermione.

They watched the birds soaring overhead, glittering… glittering?

“They're not birds!” Harry said suddenly, “They're keys! Winged keys… look carefully. So that must mean…” He looked around the chamber while the other two squinted up at the flock of keys, “… yes… look! Broomsticks! We've got to catch the key to the door!”

“But there are hundreds of them!”

Ron examined the lock on the door.

“We're looking for a big, old-fashioned one… probably silver, like the handle.”

They each seized a broomstick and kicked off into the air, soaring into the midst of the cloud of keys. They grabbed and snatched, but the bewitched keys darted and dived so quickly it was almost impossible to catch one.

Not for nothing, though, was Harry the youngest Seeker in a century. He had a knack for spotting things other people didn't. After a minute's weaving about through the whirl of rainbow feathers, he noticed a large silver key that had a bent wing, as if it had already been caught and stuffed roughly into the keyhole.

“That one!” he called to the others, “That big one… there… no, there… with bright blue wings… the feathers are all crumpled on one side.”

Ron went speeding in the direction that Harry was pointing, crashed into the ceiling, and nearly fell off his broom.

“We've got to close in on it!” Harry called, not taking his eyes off the key with the damaged wing, “Ron, you come at it from above… Hermione, stay below and stop it from going down and I'll try and catch it. Right, NOW!”

Ron dived, Hermione rocketed upward, the key dodged them both, and Harry streaked after it; it sped toward the wall, Harry leaned forward and with a nasty, crunching noise, pinned it against the stone with one hand. Ron and Hermione's cheers echoed around the high chamber.

They landed quickly, and Harry ran to the door, the key struggling in his hand. He rammed it into the lock and turned… it worked. The moment the lock had clicked open, the key took flight again, looking very battered now that it had been caught twice.

“Ready?” Harry asked the other two, his hand on the door handle. They nodded. He pulled the door open.

**Meanwhile, with John…**

John Constantine walked slowly without even paying attention as he thought over his confrontation with his sister. He didn’t even notice Anne Marie walking around the corner, so he bumped into her.

“Ow,” Anne said as she stumbled back holding her nose while John did the same, “Watch where you’re going!”

“Sorry,” John said slowly, “I just saw my sister…”

“You did?” Anne asked, “That’s good, isn’t it?”

“No,” John said slowly still, “she tried to get me to join her in taking over the world…”

“You said no,” Anne asked concerned, “right?”

“Yes,” John said slowly again, “I rejected her offer. I was tempted though.”

“She’s your sister,” Anne said consolingly, “Of course you were, but the important thing is that you didn’t give in. Now, where is the Owlery? I’ve never actually been there.”

“Right,” John said shaking the feelings he had away, “Follow me.”

He then led them down a corridor.

**Back with Harry…**

The next chamber was so dark they couldn't see anything at all. But as they stepped into it, light suddenly flooded the room to reveal an astonishing sight.

They were standing on the edge of a huge chessboard, behind the black chessmen, which were all taller than they were and carved from what looked like black stone. Facing them, way across the chamber, were the white pieces. Harry, Ron and Hermione shivered slightly… the towering white chessmen had no faces.

"Now what do we do?" Harry whispered.

“It's obvious, isn't it?” said Ron, “We've got to play our way across the room.”

Behind the white pieces they could see another door.

“How?” said Hermione nervously.

“I think,” said Ron, “we're going to have to be chessmen.”

He walked up to a black knight and put his hand out to touch the knight's horse. At once, the stone sprang to life. The horse pawed the ground and the knight turned his helmeted head to look down at Ron.

“Do we… er… have to join you to get across?” The black knight nodded. Ron turned to the other two.

“This needs thinking about,” he said, “I suppose we've got to take the place of three of the black pieces…”

Harry and Hermione stayed quiet, watching Ron think. Finally he said, “Now, don't be offended or anything, but neither of you are that good at chess-”

“We're not offended,” said Harry quickly, “Just tell us what to do.”

“Well, Harry, you take the place of that bishop, and Hermione, you stand next to him instead of that castle.”

“What about you?”

“I'm going to be a knight,” said Ron.

The chessmen seemed to have been listening, because at these words a knight, a bishop, and a castle turned their backs on the white pieces and walked off the board, leaving three empty squares that Harry, Ron, and Hermione took.

“White always plays first in chess,” said Ron, peering across the board, “Yes… look…”

A white pawn had moved forward two squares.

Ron started to direct the black pieces. They moved silently wherever he sent them. Harry's knees were trembling. What if they lost?

“Harry… move diagonally four squares to the right.”

Their first real shock came when their other knight was taken. The white queen smashed him to the floor and dragged him off the board, where he lay quite still, facedown.

“Had to let that happen,” said Ron, looking shaken, “Leaves you free to take that bishop, Hermione, go on.”

Every time one of their men was lost, the white pieces showed no mercy. Soon there was a huddle of limp black players slumped along the wall. Twice, Ron only just noticed in time that Harry and Hermione were in danger. He himself darted around the board, taking almost as many white pieces as they had lost black ones.

“We're nearly there,” he muttered suddenly, “Let me think let me think…”

The white queen turned her blank face toward him.

“Yes…” said Ron softly, “It's the only way… I've got to be taken.”

“NO!” Harry and Hermione shouted.

“That's chess!” snapped Ron, “You've got to make some sacrifices! I take one step forward and she'll take me… that leaves you free to checkmate the king, Harry!”

“But…”

“Do you want to stop Snape or not?”

“Ron…”

“Look, if you don't hurry up, he'll already have the Stone!”

There was no alternative.

“Ready?” Ron called, his face pale but determined, “Here I go… now, don't hang around once you've won.”

He stepped forward, and the white queen pounced. She struck Ron hard across the head with her stone arm, and he crashed to the floor, Hermione screamed but stayed on her square, the white queen dragged Ron to one side. He looked as if he'd been knocked out.

Shaking, Harry moved three spaces to the left.

“Checkmate,” Harry said.

The white king took off his crown and threw it at Harry's feet. They had won. The chessmen parted and bowed, leaving the door ahead clear. With one last desperate look back at Ron, Harry and Hermione charged through the door and up the next passageway.

“What if he's…?”

“He'll be all right,” said Harry, trying to convince himself, “What do you reckon's next?”

“We've had Sprout's, that was the Devil's Snare; Flitwick must've put charms on the keys; McGonagall transfigured the chessmen to make them alive; that leaves Quirrell's spell, and Snape's.”

They had reached another door.

“Alright?” Harry whispered.

“Go on.”

Harry pushed it open.

A disgusting smell filled their nostrils, making both of them pull their robes up over their noses. Eyes watering, they saw, flat on the floor in front of them, a troll even larger than the one they had tackled, out cold with a bloody lump on its head.

“I'm glad we didn't have to fight that one,” Harry whispered as they stepped carefully over one of its massive legs, “Come on, I can't breathe.”

He pulled open the next door, both of them hardly daring to look at what came next, but there was nothing very frightening in here, just a table with seven differently shaped bottles standing on it in a line.

“Snape's,” said Harry, “What do we have to do?”

They stepped over the threshold, and immediately a fire sprang up behind them in the doorway. It wasn't ordinary fire either; it was purple. At the same instant, black flames shot up in the doorway leading onward. They were trapped.

“Look!” Hermione seized a roll of paper lying next to the bottles. Harry looked over her shoulder to read it:

Danger lies before you,

while safety lies behind,

Two of us will help you,

which ever you would find,

One among us seven will let you move ahead,

Another will transport the drinker back instead,

Two among our number hold only nettle wine,

Three of us are killers,

waiting bidden in line.

Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,

To help you in your choice,

we give you these clues four:

First, however slyly the poison tries to hide

You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;

Second, different are those who stand at either end,

But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;

Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,

Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;

Fourth, the second left and the second on the right

Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.

Hermione let out a great sigh and Harry, amazed, saw that she was smiling, the very last thing he felt like doing.

“Brilliant,” said Hermione, “This isn't magic… it's logic… a puzzle. A lot of the greatest wizards haven't got an ounce of logic, they'd be stuck in here forever.”

“But so will we, won't we?”

“Of course not,” said Hermione, “Everything we need is here on this paper. Seven bottles: three are poison; two are wine; one will get us safely through the black fire, and one will get us back through the purple.”

“But how do we know which to drink?”

“Give me a minute.”

Hermione read the paper several times. Then she walked up and down the line of bottles, muttering to herself and pointing at them. At last, she clapped her hands.

“Got it,” she said, “The smallest bottle will get us through the black fire… toward the Stone.”

Harry looked at the tiny bottle.

“There's only enough there for one of us,” he said, “That's hardly one swallow.”

They looked at each other.

“Which one will get you back through the purple flames?”

Hermione pointed at a rounded bottle at the right end of the line.

“You drink that," said Harry.

“No, listen,” Harry said when Hermione began to protest, “get back and get Ron. Grab brooms from the flying-key room, they'll get you out of the trapdoor and past Fluffy… go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to Dumbledore, we need him. I might be able to hold Snape off for a while, but I'm no match for him, really.”

“I thought John and Anne were going to do that,” Hermione frowned.

“They might’ve gotten caught by Filch,” reasoned Harry, “Now go.”

“But Harry… what if You-Know-Who's with him?”

“Well… I was lucky once, wasn't I?” said Harry, pointing at his scar, “I might get lucky again.”

Hermione's lip trembled, and she suddenly dashed at Harry and threw her arms around him.

“Hermione!”

“Harry… you're a great wizard, you know.”

“I'm not as good as you,” said Harry, very embarrassed, as she let go of him.

“Me!” said Hermione, “Books! And cleverness! There are more important things… friendship and bravery and… oh Harry… be careful!”

“You drink first,” said Harry, “You are sure which is which, aren't you?”

“Positive,” said Hermione. She took a long drink from the round bottle at the end, and shuddered.

“It's not poison?” said Harry anxiously.

“No… but it's like ice.”

“Quick, go, before it wears off.”

“Good luck… take care.”

“GO!”

Hermione turned and walked straight through the purple fire.

**With John…**

John and Anne had gone to the owlery and were now on their way back to the 3rd corridor. Thankfully, John’s enchanted necklaces still kept them unnoticeable so they were ignored by Filch who had just picked up Mrs. Norris who was still rubbing herself in the catnip. When they got to the door to the 3rd corridor, they just stood there and waited for either the trio to come up or for Dumbledore to show up. However, not a second later Dumbledore appeared and immediately saw them.

“Interesting enchantment John,” Dumbledore said, “However, to be truly unnoticeable you need to update the technique.”

“We had just sent a-” Anne began.

“An owl to me?” Dumbldore finished, “Yes, I know.”

“Ah,” Anne said simply.

“Harry’s gone after him,” Dumbledore asked, “hasn’t he?”

“Aye,” John confirmed.

Dumbledore then hurried into the 3rd floor corridor.

“Harry’s in good hands,” John said as he stood up straight, “come on.”

“You called him Harry,” Anne said as she did the same.

“Aye,” John said, “But don’t tell him I did.”

They had just taken a few steps when Ron and Hermione rushed out of the 3rd floor corridor.

“John!” Hermione panted, “Anne! Dumbledore just-”

“We know,” John said, “Dumbledore’s on his way to Potter.”

“What happened to you guys?” Anne asked.

“Devil’s snare,” Ron said quickly, “flying keys, and a gigantic chessboard.”

“Also an unconscious troll,” Hermione added, “and a room with potions and flames on either side. There was only enough potion for Harry to go onward alone.”

“Well then,” John said, “I’d say its best that we get Ron to the hospital wing, and then get to our common rooms before we get into any further trouble. Anne and I will accompany you under the invisibility cloak, and we’ll head to our common room via floo powder. I don’t feel like answering any questions from a bloody raven headed knocker tonight.”

“Fair enough,” Hermione said, “But I’d rather we wait outside the door for Harry and Dumbledore. I don’t feel right leaving them.”

“Fine,” John muttered as he rolled his eyes, “Let’s just sleep out on the cold stone, why don’t we.”

They then sat against the wall on either side of the door and Ron conked out. Fortunately, they were smart enough to do so in a way that they wouldn’t be seen by anyone they don’t want to see them.

**An hour later…**

They had all been sitting outside the door for half an hour now. Ron was snoring softly but everyone else sat alert, too worried to do anything otherwise. Suddenly, the door banged open and Dumbledore appeared, carrying and unconscious Harry in his arms. They heard a faint sound of a harp playing before the door was slammed shut again. Hermione and Anne jumped up, but Dumbledore whooshed past them, his silver hair whipping behind him. John then shook Ron awake.

“Ron,” John said, “Let’s go. Dumbledore got Potter out of that place.”

“Where do you think he’s taking him?” Hermione asked.

“The hospital wing,” John said while Ron slowly stood up, “if his appearance is anything to go by, that is.”

They slowly headed their way down to the hall as they yawned. The windows showed daylight shining, but nobody cared enough to look at it. They just spent their time stumbling to the hospital wing, and just as they got there Dumbledore exited the room closing the door behind him. He had a grim expression.

“Sir?” Ron asked in concern.

“Harry is in a bad condition,” Dumbledore said, “You may visit him in a few hours if you wish. Look at you all.”

He then turned his attention entirely on John and Anne.

“I give you two permission to sleep Gryffindor Tower tonight. It’s closer. You’ve all been very brave, but now you need some rest.”

“What about Ron?” John asked tiredly.

“He looks fine to me,” Dumbledore said, “A few scrapes and bruises, but nothing fatal. He’ll be okay to go a night without going to the hospital wing. Besides, Madam Pomfrey has her hands full with Harry right now.”

“Yes, sir,” they all mumbled. Dumbledore then smiled and rushed off. All of them would have demanded to know what was going on with Harry, but they were too tired to do so. In which case, they all trudged up to the Gryffindor common room and as soon as they were inside they said their good nights. Hermione went to the girl’s dorm, Ron went up to the boys, but both John and Anne just collapsed on one of the couches next to each other and slept.

They slept for as long as they could, but soon it became unbearable to ignore the noise of the Gryffindors as they moved about in the common room. As John and Anne woke up, they both realized that they were sleeping right next to each other, and that Anne had her head rested on John’s chest. Their faces reddened as they got up and straightened their clothes. They quickly followed the Gryffindors down to breakfast, so they wouldn’t have time to even talk about how they woke up. When they arrived, they automatically sat down at the Gryffindor table without even thinking. They also happened to be sitting next to Ron and Chas and across from Hermione.

“Is it true you took on McGonagall’s gigantic chess set?” asked Fred or George as he sat down next to Ron.

“What?” Ron coughed, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on,” the Weasley twin said, “no use hiding it. The whole school knows by now.”

“Oh,” Ron said.

“Apparently you were really good,” the Weasley twin added making Ron grow red a bit at the praise.

“So,” said the other twin as he sat down, “what happened to Harry?”

“I dunno,” Ron said.

“We’re going down to visit him later,” Hermione put in.

**Two days later…**

Harry slowly woke up, and as he did so he noticed Albus Dumbledore staring at him from a chair located next to the hospital bed he lay on.

“Good afternoon, Harry,” said Dumbledore. Harry stared at him. Then he remembered: “Sir! The Stone! It was Quirrell! He's got the Stone! Sir, quick-”

“Calm yourself, dear boy, you are a little behind the times,” said Dumbledore, “Quirrell does not have the Stone.”

“Then who does? Sir, I-”

“Harry, please relax, or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out.”

Harry swallowed and looked around him. He realized he must be in the hospital wing. He was lying in a bed with white linen sheets, and next to him was a table piled high with what looked like half the candy shop.

“Tokens from your friends and admirers,” said Dumbledore, beaming, “What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. I believe your friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to send you a toilet seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it. John Constantine even dropped this off.”

Dumbledore then held up a lighter, and Harry recognized it immediately. It was John’s lucky lighter. He was confused as to why john would give him that.

“Apparently, this is your friend John Constantine’s lucky charm. He clearly figured you’d need all the luck in the world,” Dumbledore said, “Especially now that Voldemort’s spirit is still out there.”

“Why do you have it, sir?” Harry asked.

“John gave it to me knowing Madam Pomfrey would confiscate it,” Albus explained as he gave it to Harry.

“How long have I been in here?”

“Three days. Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Granger will be most relieved you have come round, they have been extremely worried.”

“But sir, the Stone-”

"I see you are not to be distracted," Dumbldore interrupted, "Very well, the Stone. Professor Quirrell did not manage to take it from you. I arrived in time to prevent that, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say."

“You got there? You got Hermione's owl?”

“Actually,” Albus said, “She never sent it. No sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just left. I arrived just in time to pull Quirrell off you.”

“It was you.”

“I feared I might be too late.”

“You nearly were, I couldn't have kept him off the Stone much longer…”

“Not the Stone, boy, you… the effort involved nearly killed you. For one terrible moment there, I was afraid it had. As for the Stone, it has been encased in a special box and sent to John’s secret society.”

“You know about that?” Harry asked.

“Oh yes,” Albus nodded.

“John had to explain it to me before I gave him the stone,” Albus continued.

“But your friend… Nicolas Flamel…” Harry said.

“Oh, you know about Nicolas?” said Dumbledore, sounding quite delighted, “You did do the thing properly, didn't you? Well, Nicolas and I have had a little chat, and agreed it's all for the best.”

“But that means he and his wife will die, won't they?”

“They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die.”

Dumbledore smiled at the look of amazement on Harry's face.

“To one as young as you, I'm sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, very long day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all… the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them.” Harry lay there, lost for words. Dumbledore hummed a little and smiled at the ceiling.

“Sir?” said Harry, “I've been thinking… sir… even if the Stone's gone, Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Who…”

“Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself.”

“Yes, sir. Well, Voldemort's going to try other ways of coming back, isn't he?”

“He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share… not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. He left Quirrell to die; he shows just as little mercy to his followers as his enemies. Nevertheless, Harry, while you may only have delayed his return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems a losing battle next time… and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power.”

Harry nodded, but stopped quickly, because it made his head hurt. Then he said, “Sir, there are some other things I'd like to know, if you can tell me... things I want to know the truth about…”

“The truth." Dumbledore sighed, “It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution. However, I shall answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case I beg you'll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie.”

“Well… Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him from killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?”

Dumbledore sighed very deeply this time.

“Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day… put it from your mind for now, Harry. When you are older… I know you hate to hear this… when you are ready, you will know.”

And Harry knew it would be no good to argue.

“But why couldn't Quirrell touch me?”

“Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn't realize that love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign… to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed, and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good.”

Dumbledore now became very interested in a bird out on the windowsill, which gave Harry time to dry his eyes on the sheet. When he had found his voice again, Harry said, “And the invisibility cloak, do you know who sent it to me?”

“Ah, your father happened to leave it in my possession, and I thought you might like it,” Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, “Useful things… your father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food when he was here.”

“And there's something else…”

“Fire away.”

“Quirrell said Snape…”

“Professor Snape, Harry.”

“Yes, him… Quirrell said he hates me because he hated my father. Is that true?”

“Well, they did rather detest each other. Not unlike yourself and Mr. Malfoy. And then, your father did something Snape could never forgive.”

“What?”

“He saved his life.”

“What?”

“Yes…” said Dumbledore dreamily, “Funny, the way people's minds work, isn't it? Professor Snape couldn't bear being in your father's debt… I do believe he worked so hard to protect you this year because he felt that would make him and your father even. Then he could go back to hating your father's memory in peace…”

Harry tried to understand this but it made his head pound, so he stopped.

“And sir, there's one more thing…”

“Just the one?”

“How did I get the Stone out of the mirror?”

“Ah, now, I'm glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, and between you and me, that's saying something. You see, only one who wanted to find the Stone… find it, but not use it… would be able to get it, otherwise they'd just see themselves making gold or drinking Elixir of Life. My brain surprises even me sometimes… Now, enough questions. I suggest you make a start on these sweets. Ah! Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit flavored one, and since then I'm afraid I've rather lost my liking for them… but I think I'll be safe with a nice toffee, don't you?”

He smiled and popped the golden-brown bean into his mouth. Then he choked and said, “Alas! Ear wax!”

**Later…**

Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was a nice woman, but very strict.

“Just five minutes,” Harry pleaded.

“Absolutely not.”

“You let Professor Dumbledore in…”

“Well, of course, that was the headmaster, quite different. You need rest.”

“I am resting, look, lying down and everything. Oh, go on, Madam Pomfrey…”

“Oh, very well,” she said, “But five minutes only.”

And she let Ron and Hermione in.

“Harry!”

Hermione looked ready to fling her arms around him again, but Harry was glad she held herself in as his head was still very sore.

“Oh, Harry, we were sure you were going to… Dumbledore was so worried…”

“The whole school's talking about it,” said Ron, “What really happened?”

It was one of those rare occasions when the true story is even more strange and exciting than the wild rumors. Harry told them everything: Quirrell; the mirror; the Stone; and Voldemort. Ron and Hermione were a very good audience; they gasped in all the right places, and when Harry told them what was under Quirrell's turban, Hermione screamed out loud.

“So the Stone's gone?” said Ron finally, “Flamel's just going to die?”

“That's what I said, but Dumbledore thinks that… what was it? … 'to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.”

“I always said he was off his rocker,” said Ron, looking quite impressed at how crazy his hero was.

“So what happened to you two?” said Harry.

“Well, I got back all right,” said Hermione, “I brought Ron round… that took a while… and we came across John and Anne outside the 3rd floor corridor. They said that they had already contacted Dumbledore, but they met him in the entrance hall not too long after… apparently he already knew… I don’t know what he said, but I do know he hurried to your location cause we bumped into him as Ron and I were leaving the Devil’s Snare area.”

“D'you think he meant you to do it?” said Ron, “Sending you your father's cloak and everything?”

“Well,” Hermione exploded, “if he did… I mean to say that's terrible… you could have been killed.”

“No, it isn't,” said Harry thoughtfully, “He's a funny man, Dumbledore. I think he sort of wanted to give me a chance. I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, he just taught us enough to help. I don't think it was an accident he let me find out how the mirror worked. It's almost like he thought I had the right to face Voldemort if I could…”

“Yeah, Dumbledore's off his rocker, all right,” said Ron proudly, "Listen, you've got to be up for the end-of-year feast tomorrow. The points are all in and Slytherin won, of course… you missed the last Quidditch match, we were steamrollered by Ravenclaw without you… but the food'll be good.”

“Hey,” Harry said realizing something, “Where’s John?”

At that moment, Madam Pomfrey bustled over.

“You've had nearly fifteen minutes, now OUT,” she said firmly.

After a good night's sleep, Harry felt nearly back to normal.

“I want to go to the feast,” he told Madam Pomfrey as she straightened his many candy boxes, “I can, can't I?”

“Professor Dumbledore says you are to be allowed to go,” she said stiffly, as though in her opinion Professor Dumbledore didn't realize how risky feasts could be, “And you have another visitor.”

“Oh, good,” said Harry, “Who is it?”

Hagrid sidled through the door as he spoke. As usual when he was indoors, Hagrid looked too big to be allowed. He sat down next to Harry, took one look at him, and burst into tears.

“It's… all… my… ruddy… fault!” he sobbed, his face in his hands, “I told the evil git how ter get past Fluffy! I told him! It was the only thing he didn't know, an' I told him! Yeh could've died! All fer a dragon egg! I'll never drink again! I should be chucked out an' made ter live as a Muggle!”

“Hagrid!” said Harry, shocked to see Hagrid shaking with grief and remorse, great tears leaking down into his beard, “Hagrid, he'd have found out somehow, this is Voldemort we're talking about, he'd have found out even if you hadn't told him.”

“Yeh could've died!” sobbed Hagrid, “An' don' say the name!”

“VOLDEMORT!” Harry bellowed, and Hagrid was so shocked, he stopped crying, “I've met him and I'm calling him by his name. Please cheer up, Hagrid, we saved the Stone, it's gone, he can't use it. Have a Chocolate Frog, I've got loads…”

Hagrid wiped his nose on the back of his hand and said, “That reminds me. I've got yeh a present.”

“It's not a stoat sandwich, is it?” said Harry anxiously, and at last Hagrid gave a weak chuckle, “Nah. Dumbledore gave me the day off yesterday ter fix it. 'Course, he shoulda sacked me instead… anyway, got yeh this…”

It seemed to be a handsome, leather-covered book. Harry opened it curiously. It was full of wizard photographs. Smiling and waving at him from every page were his mother and father.

“Sent owls off ter all yer parents' old school friends, askin' fer photos... knew yeh didn' have any... d'yeh like it?”

Harry couldn't speak, but Hagrid understood.

**Later…**

Harry made his way down to the end-of-year feast alone that night. He had been held up by Madam Pomfrey's fussing about, insisting on giving him one last checkup, so the Great Hall was already full. It was decked out in the Slytherin colors of green and silver to celebrate Slytherin's winning the house cup for the seventh year in a row. A huge banner showing the Slytherin serpent covered the wall behind the High Table.

When Harry walked in there was a sudden hush, and then everybody started talking loudly at once. He slipped into a seat between Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table and tried to ignore the fact that people were standing up to look at him.

Fortunately, Dumbledore arrived moments later. The babble died away.

“Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully, "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were… you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts…”

“Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two.”

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table. Harry could see Draco Malfoy banging his goblet on the table. It was a sickening sight.

“Yes, Yes, well done, Slytherin,” said Dumbledore, “However, recent events must be taken into account.”

The room went very still. The Slytherins' smiles faded a little.

“Ahem,” said Dumbledore, “I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes…”

“First… to Mr. Ronald Weasley…”

Ron went purple in the face; he looked like a radish with a bad sunburn.

“… for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points.”

Gryffindor cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars overhead seemed to quiver. Percy could be heard telling the other prefects, “My brother, you know! My youngest brother! Got past McGonagall's giant chess set!”

At last there was silence again.

“Second… to Miss Hermione Granger… for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points.”

Hermione buried her face in her arms; Harry strongly suspected she had burst into tears. Gryffindors up and down the table were beside themselves… they were a hundred points up. “Third… to Mr. Harry Potter…” said Dumbledore. The room went deadly quiet for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points.”

The din was deafening. Those who could add up while yelling themselves hoarse knew that Gryffindor now had four hundred and seventy-two points… exactly the same as Slytherin. They had tied for the house cup… if only Dumbledore had given Harry just one more point.

“Fourth… to Mr. John Constantine,” Albus Dumbledore continued, “For investigating former Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor Quirrell an entire year, and rejecting the offer to turn dark and join his sister in ruling the world after uncovering a spy within this school. I award Ravenclaw house… seventy points.”

“Fifth… to Ms. Anne Marie,” Albus continued, “for continuing to work alongside John Constantine even after his colossal screw up during the year. I award Ravenclaw house… ten points.”

The Ravenclaw house all congratulated John and Anne both even though what they did pales in comparison to stopping Voldemort from returning.

Dumbledore raised his hand. The room gradually fell silent.

“There are all kinds of courage,” said Dumbledore, smiling, “It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom.”

Someone standing outside the Great Hall might well have thought some sort of explosion had taken place, so loud was the noise that erupted from the Gryffindor table. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood up to yell and cheer as Neville, white with shock, disappeared under a pile of people hugging him. He had never won so much as a point for Gryffindor before. Harry, still cheering, nudged Ron in the ribs and pointed at Malfoy, who couldn't have looked more stunned and horrified if he'd just had the Body-Bind Curse put on him. They may not have made first place, but they beat Malfoy.

An even louder roar came from the Ravenclaw table as they had reached first place and won the house cup. However, Gryffindor didn’t care as Slytherin had been beaten.

“Which means,” Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, for even Hufflepuff was celebrating the downfall of Slytherin as well, “We need a little change of decoration.”

He clapped his hands. In an instant, the green hangings became blue and the silver became bronze; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a towering Ravenclaw Eagle took its place. Snape was shaking Professor Flitwick's hand, with a horrible, forced smile. He caught Harry's eye and Harry knew at once that Snape's feelings toward him hadn't changed one jot. This didn't worry Harry. It seemed as though life would be back to normal next year, or as normal as it ever was at Hogwarts.

It was the best evening of Harry's life, better than winning at Quidditch, or Christmas, or knocking out mountain trolls… he would never, ever forget tonight.

Harry had almost forgotten that the exam results were still to come, but come they did. To their great surprise, both he and Ron passed with good marks; Hermione and John, of course, had the best grades of the first years. Even Neville scraped through, his good Herbology mark making up for his abysmal Potions one. They had hoped that Goyle, who was almost as stupid as he was mean, might be thrown out, but he had passed, too. It was a shame, but as Ron said, you couldn't have everything in life.

And suddenly, their wardrobes were empty, their trunks were packed, Neville's toad was found lurking in a corner of the toilets; notes were handed out to all students, warning them not to use magic over the holidays (“I always hope they'll forget to give us these,” said Fred Weasley sadly). John was given a license to use his muggle-magic for exorcisms, but that’s it; Hagrid was there to take them down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake; they were boarding the Hogwarts Express; talking and laughing as the countryside became greener and tidier; eating Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans as they sped past Muggle towns; pulling off their wizard robes and putting on jackets and coats; pulling into platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross Station.

It took quite a while for them all to get off the platform. A wizened old guard was up by the ticket barrier, letting them go through the gate in twos and threes so they didn't attract attention by all bursting out of a solid wall at once and alarming the Muggles.

“You must come and stay this summer,” said Ron, “all of you… I'll send you an owl.”

“Thanks,” said Harry, “I'll need something to look forward to.” People jostled them as they moved forward toward the gateway back to the Muggle world. Some of them called:

“Bye, Harry!”

“See you, Potter!”

“Still famous,” said Ron, grinning at him.

“Not where I'm going, I promise you,” said Harry.

“Can’t say the same for me,” John grunted, “Since, I refused to return to my drunk of a Dad, I was practically adopted by the Weasleys. I’d rather not be all that famous, and knowing the twins they’ll tell everyone they know about what I can do and have done.”

“Looks like Firenze was right about you,” Harry smiled, “You are going to be as well remembered as me.”

“Brilliant,” John said sarcastically.

He, Ron, Hermione, and John passed through the gateway together. Ritchie, Chas, and Anne all followed suit as they were next in line. “There he is, Mom, there he is, look!”

It was Ginny Weasley, Ron's younger sister, but she wasn't pointing at Ron.

“Harry Potter!” she squealed, “Look, Mom! I can see-”

“Be quiet, Ginny, and it's rude to point.”

Mrs. Weasley smiled down at them.

“Busy year?” she said.

“Very,” said Harry, “Thanks for the fudge and the sweater, Mrs. Weasley.”

“Oh, it was nothing, dear.”

“Ready, are you?”

It was Uncle Vernon, still purple-faced, still mustached, still looking furious at the nerve of Harry, carrying an owl in a cage in a station full of ordinary people. Behind him stood Aunt Petunia and Dudley, looking terrified at the very sight of Harry. John scowled at the sight of them and itched to pull out his wand and hex them, but he didn’t.

“You must be Harry's family!” said Mrs. Weasley.

“In a manner of speaking,” said Uncle Vernon, “Hurry up, boy, we haven't got all day.” He walked away.

Harry hung back for a last word with Ron, Hermione, John, Chas, and Anne. Ritchie just stood there awkwardly.

“See you over the summer, then.”

“Hope you have… er… a good holiday,” said Hermione, looking uncertain after Uncle Vernon, shocked that anyone could be so unpleasant.

“Oh, I will,” said Harry, and they were surprised at the grin that was spreading over his face, “They don't know we're not allowed to use magic at home. I'm going to have a lot of fun with Dudley this summer…”

“Listen mate,” John said, “If you ever need someone to exorcise your family, send an owl. Also, look after my lighter. Once you-know-who is permanently dealt with, I’ll be wanting it back. One more thing, as long as you have that lighter with you, your good luck will never go bad.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, “and I will, but I’m not sure the Dursleys have demons in them. I just think they have rotten souls.”

“Fair enough,” John nodded.

“Before I go,” Harry said remembering something, “where were you the day I woke up after the fight with Quirrell?”

“I was giving the Professors a briefing on everything I learned over the year that wasn’t school related,” John said, “Also, I don’t do the mushy stuff and that includes going to hospitals to visit people.”

“Ah,” Harry said, “Well, take care. All of you.”

Chas, Anne, John, Hermione, and Ron all nodded at him before he left. That was when John reluctantly went over to Mrs. Weasley and held out his hand.

“I’m John constantine,” John said, “Demonologist, exorcist in training, and wizard. I also happen… to be… your new… housemate? Whatever its called.”

“And we’re glad to have you,” Mrs. Weasley said, “My name is Molly, you met my sons, my husband’s name is Arthur, and this is Ginny.”

“Are you Scottish or Irish?” John asked bluntly.

“Excuse me?” Molly said.

“Your family…” John said, “They all have ginger hair, and that seems to be an Irish or Scottish thing.

“Ah,” Molly said nodding, “We do have some Irish genes in us, but we live in Britain.”

“Oh,” John said, “right then, let’s just get out of this place. I’d like to have some quiet after this year. Besides, I need quiet to perfect my muggle-magic.”

“Oh,” Molly said brightening up, “The boys have sent owls that talked about your… muggle-magic, and I am absolutely intrigued by it.”

“Though,” Molly sighed, “Arthur just hasn’t shut up about it… not even at work. That’s how much he loves muggles.”

“Let’s go!” Molly then called to Percy and the twins who had just showed up, as well as Ron.

With that, the Weasleys and John left the station with Chas, Ritchie, and Anne watching them go. John stopped once and looked back before waving a good bye to them as Hermione had already gone. Then, he resumed his way alongside the Weasleys.

 

John Constantine will return


End file.
